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V.     tM  Angeles,  Cal. 

Chronicles 


SCHONBERG-COTTA     FaMILY 


TWO    OF    THEMSELVES, 


NEW  YORK: 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANy, 

2    97         FlBLIBaKBa. 


fu  those  imfamfliar  with  the  history  of  Luther  anJ  his  time*,  th« 
title  -of  this  unique  work  may  not  sufficiently  indicate  its  character. 

The  design  of  the  author  is  to  so  reproduce  the  times  of  the  Reforma- 
tion as  to  place  them  more  vividiy  and  impressivelj  before  the  mind 
cf  the  reader  than  has  been  done  by  ordinary  historical  narratives. 

She  does  this  with  such  remarkable  success,  that  it  is  difficult  tc 
realize  we  are  not  actually  hearing  Luther  and  those  around  him  speak 
We  seem  to  be  personal  actors  in  the  stirring  scenes  of  that  eventfu] 
period. 

One  branch  of  the  Cotta  family  were  Luther's  earliest,  and  ever  aftor, 
his  most  intiniate  friends.  Under  the  title  of  "  Chronicles"  our  author 
jE5\e3  the  m^imbers  of  this  family,  (which  she  brings  in  almost  living 
reality  before  us,)  to  record  their  daily  experiences  as  connected  with 
the  Reformation  age. 

This  Diary  is  fictitious,  but  it  is  employed  with  wonderful  skill  5n 
Dringing  the  reader  face  to  face  with  the  great  ideas  and  facta  associated 
with  Luther  and  men  of  his  times,  as  they  are  given  to  us  by  accredited 
hiatory,  and  is  written  with  a  beauty,  tenderness  ;ind  power  rarely 
equalled. 

A  reference  to  the  carefully  prepared  Table  of  Contents,  will  gi»# 
•Q  idea  of  the  scope  of  the  work. 


Bntered  accordiog  to  Act  of  Oongrcsa,  In  the  jeu  18C8,  bf 
M.    W.   DODD, 

i»  ft«  Cte^kV  CSioe  <  the  DLtrict  Cocirt  of  the  Ur>lted  States  for  tbf  Sonlhfn 

Difltrlct  of  New  York.  •  ;  '..'■.■, 


CAliD  FROM  THE  AUTHOR. 

"The  Author  of  the  '  Scaouberg-Cotta  Family,'  wishes  it  to  b« 
generally  known  among  the  readers  of  her  books  in  Amenca,  thai  th« 
Anc^ricaa  Editions  issued  by  Mr,  M.  W,  Dodd,  of  Ne  t  York,  alone  hftT« 
tt      iutuors  sanction." 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

EW«  INTRODUCTION  OF  HERSELF  AND  CHRONICLE  —  EKB  iBSOTHEB  FRtEDKIOH 
[fEITZ]  —  HER  ANCESTRY  —  OTHER  HEUBBB3  OP  THB  FAMILY  —  DEUCATi 
IBONY  —  MARTIN    LDTHEB  —  ELSK's  TREASnEBS 7-31 

PART  n. 

FHedridh's  Chronicle. — sage    ekflkctions  —  leaves   home    foe    eefubt^ 

GETS  LOST  in  A  FOREST  —  A  GLOOMY  NIGHT  —  ARRIVES  AT  EEFCRT  —  THH 
DNIVERSITY  —  TiaiTS  LUTHER's  HOME  WITH  HIM  —  ACCIDENT  TO  LUTHEB — 
OBTAINS   A  SCHOLARSHIP  —  LUTHER   DANGEROUSLY   ILL 37-57 

PART  m. 

She's  Chronicle.— ^VK,  A  distant  eelative,  introduced  into  thk  family  — 

DISCUSSIONfi  among  THEM  CONNECTED  WITH  TUB  EVENT  —  EVa's  RELIQICK 
— ITS  PBCULIABITY  —  MAKES  A  DEBP  IMPRESSION  —  LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHKI8- 
TOPBEB 57-7« 

PART  rv. 

El»^g  Chronicle  continued. — fritz  at  home  again — thk  change  which    his 

UNIVSBSITY    LIFE    IS    PRODUCING   IN    HIM  —  INTERESTING     FAMILY    DEVELOP- 

mbnts — EVA  BEGINS  LATIN.     Extract  fvom  Friedi^ich's  Chronicle. — mobb  of 

MARTIN  LUTHER — HE  DISCOVERS  A  LATIN  BIBLB  IN  THB  UNIVERSITY 
LIBRARY — THE  PLAGUE  BREAKS  OUT  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY —  LUTHEB  DETBB" 
MINES  TO  BECOME  A  MONK  —  THE  EXCITEMENT  AND  DISTBESS  AMONG  ^19 
FBIBNDS  —  HIS   MONKISH  LIFE 70-95 

PART  V. 

MM*    Chronicle. — a  terrible  time  —  the  plagub  in  eisbkach  —  iir  tm 

FAMILY  —  FHITz'S  ATTACK  AND  RBCOVBRY — EVA's  ATTACK  —  FBITZ's  INTEB- 
TIEW    WITH    HER  WHEN   SUPPOSED   TO   BE    DY7N0 ,..    95-106 

PART  VL 

fi%idirieK's  Story.— nv  becomes  an  acgustinian  monk  in  lutheb's  cloistid 

—  WHAT  HE  WBITBS  FROM  THEBB  JANUABY,  20tH,  1510  —  THB  BIBLE  DI§- 
COVERED  BY  LUTHEB  PUT  IN  HIS  HANDS  — APBIL  9TH,  HE  FINDS  THB  MIW 
UrO    PART    OF    BVa's    BIBLE   SENTENCE — FEKQUBNT    BBFBEENCB8  TO  LUTBBI, 

105-124 


h  CONTENTS. 

PART  vn. 

OU^t Story, — hee  mkntal  conflicts  on  account  cr   rRnr— hbb   orava 

BBOraCRB  RKPDDIATB  HONKS  —  MORE  OF  EVA — DR.  TBTZEL  —  HIS  SAIJI  Of 
INDCLGBNCBS  —  WHAT  WAS  THOOGHT  OP  THE  MATTER  —  EVA's  LBGEKS  OF 
■T.  CATHERINE — ELSb's  VISIT  TO  THE   ELECTOR ]22-14A 

PAET  VIIL 

t\nisl»  Story.  —  thk  vicar-general  staupiti  —  evangelical  iNSTRncTioB 
rbcbived  from  him  and  his  confessor — fritz  is  ordered  to  romh 
—  tadlbe's  skrmons — Augustine's  manuscript  confessions  —  finds  his 
t'ohpanion  to  rome  is  to  be  martin  luther — luther  tells  him  about 
his  beginning  to  preach — their  journey  to  home  —  luther  and 
staupitz  —  thk  light  breaking  on  fritz's  mind  —  a  benedictine  monas- 
tbbt  —  rome  reached 145-170 

PART  IX. 

Elae^s  Story. — the  family  leave  for  wittenbero  —  theib  new  placb  or 

RESIDENCE  AND  RELATIONS  —  THEIR  JOUKNRY  PROM  EISENACH  —  MORE  OF 
BVA — THE  MYSTERY — PLAYS  ACTED  IN  THB  CHURCHES  —  EVA  DECIDES  ON 
BKIMO  A  NUN 170-194 

PART    X. 

fhiis's  Story. — the  monks  at  home  —  festivals  and  sacked  ceremonies  — 
HOLY  relics  —  ldtheu's  strange  conduct  at  thb  holy  staircase  — 
corruption  and  wickedness  of  thb  holy  city — iNQoiRiBs  concerning 
THEIR  pilghimagb.      Lva's  story. —  her  life  at  thb  convent  —  sisteb 

BEATBICB  —  AUNT   AGNKS 194-217 

PART  XL 

Eli^t  Story. — home  life  —  the  father's  latest  intention  —  ulrich  ton 
gBrsdorf  and  curiemhild  —  hbrb  reichenbach  —  mors  op  lutheb  — 

his  INSTUCTIONS  TO  ELSE  AND  HER  NEW  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCES — BBB 
betrothal  TO  HERB  REICHENBACH  —  LUTHER's  DEBATE  IN  FAVOR  OF  THB 
BIBLE — HIS   OPINIONS   DEEPLY    IMPRESSING   OTHER    HINDS. 217-241 

PART  XII. 

tea's  Story. — convent  life— luther  appointed  deputy  vicab- general  — 
HIS  rr—'^^oiuAL  sentiments  —  aunt  agnes.     £  Is?  a  Story. — chribmhild 

and  ulrich  married  — the  plague  at  WITTENBBRO  —  LETTER  FROM  DB. 
LUTHER — TBTZEL  AND  A  SPECIMEN  OF  HIS  INDULGENCES  —  REPUDIATED  BY 
LOTBBB — LUTHEr's   SBBMON    before   THE    BLECTOB 241-2M 

PART  xm. 

SMt  Story  continued.— soTKUBKU  1, 1517  —  lutf.er's  theses  against  mvw- 

OBNCBS  —  THEIR  EFFECT  ON  THE  COMMUNITY  —  THE  STUDENTS  BCBN  TETZBL'i 
ANSWER  TO  LUTHER.  Fritz's  Siory.  A  REVIEW— HIS  MISSION  THROUGH 
GERMANY  —  A  PRIEST  AND  WOMAN — GETS  UNLOOKED-FOR  NEWS  IN  THB 
THCBI.NGIAN  FOREST  —  LUTHEE's  THESES  AT  TUBINOKN  —  PHILIP  MELANC- 
TBON  AT  WITTENBERO  —  FRITZ  VISITS  HIS  HOMK— PLACED  AT  THB  MONAS" 
tKKT   AT  MAUIZ  —  JOHN    WKS8BL 264-28? 


CONTENTS.  y 

PART  XIV. 

SWs  Fton/. — FAUILT  DTSNTS  SINCE  SHK  LAST  WBOTB  —  LCTEEB  ASD  UtljiLMe- 
TH  )N  —  THEIR  RELATIONS  TO  AND  OPINIONS  OF  EACH  OTHER  —  Lt?rHER'« 
APPKAL  TO  THE  EMPEUOR — MELANCTHON's  WIFE — LUTHEH  PUBLISHES  AN- 
OTHER WORK,  "THE  BABTLONISn  CAPTI'VITT" — HIS  "APPEAL  TO  TH» 
N0BI!-ITT"  — DKCBMBEK  IOtH,  1520  —  THE  PLOT  THICKENS  —  LUTHER  BURNS 
THE  DBCBETALS  AND  THE  POPE's  BULL  AGAINST  HIMSELF  —  PUBLIC  EXCITE- 
MENT AND  CONDITION  OF  WITTENBERG.  A'va's  StOTy .  —  SHE  BEADS  THE 
BIBLE  TO  OTHERS  IN  THE  CONVENT  —  ITS  EFFECT — DISCOVERS  THAT  BEB 
FATHER  WAS  A  HUSSITE  —  LUTHER's  LAST  BOOK  IN  THE  CONVENT  —  HM 
COMHENTARY  ON  THE  PSALMS  APPEARS- — FRITZ  IMPRISONED  AT  UAINZ  — 
BIS   LETTER    TO    HIS   PBIENDS — ITS   EFFECT    UPON    EVA 287-310 


PART  XV. 

^\elcla's  Story. — lother  takes  his  departure  fob  worms  —  heb  attach- 
ment TO  him  for  his  religious  instructions  —  HOW  the  others  feit 
— Luther's  triumphal  journey  —  he  preaches  at  ebfurt.    Fritzs  Story, 

—  cause  op  his  imprisonment  —  his  escape  FROM  PRISON  and  recep- 
tion AT  the  castle  of  EBERNBURG — AN  attempt  to  discourage  LU- 
THER   FROM    GOING    TO    WORMS  —  IT    FAILS — AFFECTING     INCIDENTS   OP    HIS 

JOCENET HIS  ENTRY  INTO  WORMS HIS  APPEARANCE    BEFORE  THE  DIET 

HIS  MENTAL  CONFLICT  THAT  NIGHT  —  SECOND  APPEARANCE  BEFORE  THE 
DIET  —  RESULT  —  HE  SUDDENLY  DISAPPEARS — HIS  FRIENDS  FEAR  THE  WOBST 

—  FRITZ    BECOMES   A    HAWKER   OF    LUTHEb's   WRITINGS 310-337. 


PART  XVI. 

fntes  Story.-  -his  success  in  selling  luther's  publications  —  sestimentp 

CONCERNINO  LUTHER  AMONG  THE  DIFFERENT  CLASSES  HE  FELL  IN  WItH — 
FRITZ  AT  PARIS — AT  BASIL — ULEICH  VON  HUTTEN — INTERVIEW  WITH 
ERASMUS  AT  ZURICH — ZWINGLE — WHAT  THE  SWISS  THOUGHT  OF  LUTHER- 
FRITZ  IN  PRISON  AT  FRANCONIA PRIEST  RUPRECHT    AND    HIS    WOMAN  AGAIN. 

Thekl/Cs  Story.  —  fritz  escapes  —  chriemhild  and  ulrich  —  condition 

liV  THE  PEASANTS — LUTHER  IS  DISCOVERED—  HIS  REFUGE  AT  THE  CASTLE  OF 
WAETBURO — THERE  ENGAGED  IN  TRANSLATING  THE  BIBLE  INTO  GERMAN  — 
THERLA  BEADS  PORTIONS  OF  IT  TO  THE  PEOPLE  —  A  LETTEE  FROM  HSI 
lOf  BE    BERTEAND 837-37S. 


PART  xvn. 

Tm's  Story. — she  receives  some  sheets  of  luther's  gkrman  bible  —  its 

EFFECT     IN     THE     CONVENT  —  LUTUER's     THESES     AGAINST     MONASTIC    LIFE 

beach  her — monks  returning  to  ordinary  life  —  several  of  the 
younger  nuns  abjuring  convent  life  —  eva  hesitates  —  she  beab8  of 
Fritz's  imprisonment  —  death  op  Beatrice  —  eva  prepares  to  escaph 
FROM   THE  convent.     EUe's  SU>ry.  —  indulgences  again   for  sale  at 

HALLE  —  luther's  SAFETY  AND  PLACE  OF  REFUGE  BECOMES  PRIVITELT 
KNOWN  — HIS  NEW  PROTEST  AGAINST  IXDULGENCB-MONGERS  —  ITS  EFFECT — ■ 
AUGCSIINE  MONKS  ARANDvjVING  MONKISH  LIFIf  — EFFECT  OF  THE  I  ROCEED' 
IMG  —  DOMESTIC  MATTEHS--rHE  SACRAMENTAL  SUPPER  OBSERVED  IN  GE» 
MAN  —  THB  MOTDEIl  LEAD3  THE  WAY  —  THE  ZWICKHAU  PBCPHETS  —  AN 
OTHBI    CAD8B   OF    BXC11EHKNT   -  EVA    FINALLY    REACHE8    HOUC.       87S -894 


fi  CONTENTS. 

PART  XVllL 

£Im«  iSSOfJr. — LUTIUB  BKAtPEAKS  IN  WITTENBERG — HI  MEETS  THK  PMn.1 
▲GAIN  IN  THE  PULPIT — THE  SCENE  —  HIS  SERMON  —  ITS  EFFECT  —  OlSttl 
8BB110NS  AND  THEIR  EFFECT  —  A  FAMILY  DISCUSSION — LDTHBB  AND  ZWICK- 
lAN  PROPHETS THET  LEAVE  WITTENBERG.  Allctntis's  Story. CONCERN- 
ING  HERSELF —  HEtt    COPY    OF    KESSLEr's    NARRATIVE:      THE    BLACK     BEAl 

inn;    ldthee  in  disguise;    his  place  op  rbfdgb  discovered.      Eua'i 

Story. — WITTENBERG  AND  HKR  FRIENDS — SBPTEMBEB  21,  1522 — THE  CEH- 
MAN  NEW  TESTAMENT  PUBLISHED.  Thekla's  Stoi'y.  — HBABS  AGAIN  FBOK 
BBBTBAND  —  MORE  OF  THE  GERMAN  NKW  TESTAMENT  —  A  SCENE — FRITl 
BUDDBNLT  APPEARS   AMONG   THEM,  HAVING   ESCAPED    FROM  PRISON.      Fritz't 

Story. — DBCEMBEB  1st,  1522  —  he  and  eva  bbcomb  betbothed,  and  in  a 
raw  WEEKS  to  be  mabried  —  the  relations  of  monkish  and  convent 

LIFE     10     this     BVBNT  —  THEIR     FUTURE     HOME — WHAT    BTA    HAS   TO    SAT. 

Else's  Story.  —  the  interest  taken  in  the  uarbiagb  of  fritz  and  eva  — 

ATLANTIS  AND  CONRAD — A  VISIT  OF  HUSSITES — THE  PAIRS  MARRIED  — 
THBIB  DEPARTURE  FROM  HOME — NINB  OP  EVA'S  PBIBNOS  ESCAPE  FROM  THB 
CONTBNT  —  CATHEBINB  VON  BORA  THB   GUEST  OF  THB  C0TTA8 S96-447 


PART  XIX. 

Bea's  Story.— TUEiB.  lifb  among  the  people  —  chbibmhild  and  ulrich  — 

PRIEST  RUPBECHT  REAPPEARS  —  THB  WOMAN  BERTHA  BROUGHT  TO  FBITZ'S 
HOUSE  —  THE  PRIEST  AND  WOMAN  MARRIED.  Els^S  StOry. — DEATH  OP  THH 
GRANDMOTHER  —  TROUBLOUS  TIMES  —  UNEASINESS  AMONG  THB  PEASANTRY 
—  THE  ZWICKHAU  PROPHETS  AGAIN  —  THB  PEASANTS  IN  OPEN  REVOLT  — 
HOW  FRITZ  AND  LUTHBB  ACT — THE  REVOLT  SUPPRESSED  —  tUTHER  AND 
CATHERINE  VON  BORA  THE  ESCAPED  NUN  —  THE  ELECTOB's  DEATH  —  ITS 
EFFECT — LUTHER  AND  CATHERINE  MARBIED,  JUNE  23,  1525 — THEKLA's 
LOVEB,  BERTRAND,  dies  in  PRISON  —  DIVISIONS  AMONG  REFORMED  CHRIS- 
TIANS—  LUTHBB  ANB  flIS  HOME  —  ELSE  VISITS  EVA;  PARSONAGE  SCENES  — 
rBB  GERSD0BP8 — FRITZ  AT  BOMB.  Thekla'»  Story.  —  HER  SORB  TRIAL  IN  THB 
LOSS   OF   BEBTRAND 447-4S3 


PART  XX. 

Sit^s  Story,— K  convent  becomes  a  nursery  —  luther  as  a  fatheb  ax« 

HUSBAND  —  HIS  DIFFERENCES  WITH  OTHERS  OF  THB  BEFORKEES — HIS  IN- 
TEREST IN  CHILDREN  —  HIS  LOVE  FOR  A  DAUGHTER  —  GEBMANY  AND  LU- 
THBB.     Thekla's  Story. — effect   of   her   affliction  —  her    school—- 

CHRISTMAS  —  LDTHEr's  FAVOURITE  CHILD  SICKENS  AND  DIES.  The  Mother't 
Utory. — WHAT  SHE  8ATB  OF  HEB  CBILDBEN 483-520 


PART  XXI. 
Bca'i  and  Agne^e  Story. — a  Lutheran  home.     Thekla's  Story. — luthkk  — 

BE  COMPLETES  HIS  COMMENTARY  ON  GENESIS — AFFECTING  INCIDENT  COW- 
KBCTKD  with  it — HE  GOBS  TO  EISLEBEN  —  HIS  WIFE'S  FOREBODING -- 
LETTEBa  TO  HER  —  HE  SUCCEEDS  IN  HIS  MISSION,  THE  ADJUSTMENT  OF 
OIFFBSBNCB  AMONG  HIS  FRIENDS.  Fritz's  StOry.  —  OF  LDTHER's  VISIT  T(J 
THEM  AT  BI8LBBEN  —  INTEEESTIKG  INTERVIEW  —  CONCERN  ABOUT  LUTHSS'S 
1I»ALTH — FEDBUABT    18,    1543,     LUTHER   TAKEN    SUDDENLY    ILL    AND     DIBS 

—  HIS    LAST    HOURS.    EUi <i  Story. — lutheb's    funerav-,  and    honoubs 

PAID  TO   HI8   MKMOBT  —  CONCLUSION   OF   THE   FAMILY  EISIOBT.     .    5510- 55J 


INTRODUCTION. 


HE  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century  evolv- 
ed ideas  and  principles  of  unspeakable  im- 
portance to  the  social  and  moral  welfare  of 
the  human  family.  The  extent  and  value  of  their  benign 
influence  can  hardly  he  exaggerated,  and  must  ever  chal- 
lenge a  welcome  to  any  effort  that  will  give  a  clearer 
comprehension  of  these  great  ideas  and  principles  or 
stimulate  a  livelier  interest  in  them. 

Such  is  the  object  of  this  unique  work.  The  aim  of 
the  author  is  so  to  reproduce  the  salient  points,  in  that 
eventful  period  of  the  world's  history,  as  to  place  them 
more  vividly  and  impressively  before  the  mind  of  the 
reader  than  has  been  done  by  ordinary  liistorical  narra- 
tive. That  remarkable  success  has  been  attained  in  this 
effort  there  can  be  but  one  opinion. 

To  those  unfamiliar  with  the  history  of  Luther  and  hii- 
times,  the  nignificance  of  the  title  as  indicative  of  tht 
character  of  the  book  may  not  be  appreciated.  One 
branch  of  tiio  Cotta  family  befriended  Luther  in  hia 
vouth.      lliis  laid  the  foundation  of  an  iiatimacy  that 


INTRODUCTION. 

made  him  as  one  of  their  number,  and  ternlinated  only 
witii  his  death.  With  marvellous  power  and  skill  our 
author  employs  this  family,  by  a  legitimate  use  of  the 
imagination,  to  illustrate  in  tlieir  "Chronicles"  or  Diary 
the  development  of  the  great  ideas  and  movements  of 
the  Reformation,  and  exhibit  their  value  to  the  world  in 
the  transforming  and  energizing  influence  which  they 
then  and  ever  since  have  exerted. 

By  interweaving  with  the  gravest  events  of  history 
the  fascinations  of  the  touching  and  beautiful  pictures 
of  German  social  life,  around  whicli  the  genius  of  tho 
writer  has  thrown  such  a  charm,  thousands  who  would 
otherwise  feel  little  disposition  to  learn  the  great  facts 
and  principles  involved,  will  here  be  allured  to  their 
consideration.  Thus  the  lover  of  romance,  as  well  as  the 
lover  of  history,  the  youthful  and  the  more  mature,  the 
sentimental  as  well  as  the  practical,  cannot  fail  to  be- 
come interested  in  and  feel  the  force  of  truths  that  lie 
at  tiie  foundation  of  the  noblest  virtues  of  this  life,  aiad 
of   the  hope  of  a  blessed  immortality. 

It  may  not  be  improper  to  remark,  that,  in  the  prepar 
ation  of  the  work  t'je  most  trustworthy  sources  of  infor 
(nation  have  been  carefully  explored  and  drawa  upon. 

Nw  YoES,  JitTU,  1864. 


I. 


ELSE'S     STORY, 


fRIEDllICH  wishes  me  to  write  a  chronicle  >f 
my  life.  FriecTrich  is  my  eldest  brother.  I  am 
sixteen,  and  he  is  seventeen,  and  I  have  always 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing  Avhat  he  wishes  ;  and 
therefore,  although  it  seems  to  me  a  very  strange  idea,  I 
do  so  now.  It  is  easy  for  Friedrich  to  write  a  chronicle, 
or  any  thing  else,  because  he  has  thoughts.  But  I  have  so 
few  thoughts,  I  can  only  write  what  I  see  and  hear  about 
oeople  and  things.  And  that  is  certainly  very  little  to 
write  about,  because  everything  goes  on  so  much  tlie 
same  always  with  us.  The  people  around  me  are  tlie 
same  I  have  known  since  I  was  a  baby,  and  the  things  have 
.^hanged  very  little ;  excej^t  that  the  people  are  more,  be- 
cause there  are  so  many  little  children  in  our  home  now, 
na  the  things  seem  to  me  to  become  less,  because  my 
ather  does  not  grow  richer ;  and  there  are  more  tc 
clothe  and  feed.  However,  since  Fritz  wishes  it,  I  will 
try;  especially  as  ink  and  paper  are  the  two  things  wliich 
are  plentiful  among  us,  because  my  father  is  a  printer. 

Fritz  and  I  have  never  been  sepai'ated  all  our  lives  untU 
now.      Yesterday  he  went  to  the   University  at  Erfurt. 

Doi'B. — Tlie  first  portions  of  the  Chronicle,  before  the  Reformation  opocly  eom 
■tenced,  ure  u«rce6sarily  writtei  from  a  Ivouiau  Catholic  puiiit  of  View. 

0) 


S  TEE  SCU6NDERG'<10TTA  FAMILY. 

It  was  ^vhen  I  was  cryiiig  at  tlie  thought  of  partiug  witi 
hiiTi  tliat  he  told  me  his  plan  about  the  chronicle.  He  ia 
to  Avrite  one,  and  I  another.  He  said  it  would  be  a  help 
Id  him,  as  our  twilight  talk  has  been — when  always,  ever 
iiice  I  can  remember,  we  two  have  crept  away,  in  summei 
into  the  garden,  under  the  great  pear-tree,  and  in  winter 
into  the  deep  window  of  the  lumber-room  inside  ray 
father's  printing-room,  where  the  bales  of  paper  are  kept, 
and  old  books  are  piled  up,  among  which  we  used  to 
make  ourselves  a  seat. 

It  may  be  a  help  and  comfort  to  Fritz,  but  I  don't  see 
how  it  ever  can  be  any  to  me.  He  had  all  the  thoughts, 
and  he  will  have  them  still ;  but  I,  what  shall  I  have  for 
his  voice  and  his  dear  face,  but  cold,  bl;mk  paper,  and  no 
thoughts  at  all !  Besides,  I  am  so  very  busy,  behig  the 
eldest;  and  the  mother  is  fxr  from  strong,  and  the  father 
so  often  wants  me  to  help  him  at  his  types,  or  to  read  to 
him  while  he  sets  them.  However,  Fritz  wishes  it,  and  I 
shall  do  it.     I  wonder  Avhat  his  chronicle  will  be  like ! 

But  where  am  I  to  begin.  What  is  a  chronicle  ?  Foui 
of  the  books  in  the  Bible  are  called  Chronicles  in  Latin, 
and  the  first  book  begins  with  Adam,  I  know,  because  1 
read  it  one  day  to  my  father  for  his  printing.  But  Fritz 
certainly  caimot  mean  me  to  begin  as  far  back  as  that. 
Of  coiuse,  I  could  not  remember.  I  think  I  had  better 
begin  with  the  oldest  person  I  know,  because  she  is  the 
furthest  or  the  way  back  to  Adam  ;  and  that  is  our  grand- 
D.other  Von  Schonberg.  She  is  very  old — moi-e  than  siity 
— but  her  form  is  so  erect,  and  her  dark  eyes  so  piercing, 
that  sometimes  she  looks  almost  younger  than  her  daugh 
ter,  our  precious  mother,  who  is  often  bowed  down  with 
ill-health  and  cares. 

Our  grandmother's  father  was  of  a  noble  Bohemian 
family,  and  that  is  what  links  us  with  the  nobles,  althoagb 


ELSE'S  STOUT.  g 

my  father's  family  belongs  to  the  burgher  class.  Fritz 
and  I  like  to  Iook  at  the  old  seal  of  our  grandfather  Yon 
Sell  inberg,  with  all  its  qnartcriiigs,  and  to  hear  the  tales 
of  our  knightly  and  soldier  ancestors — of  crusader  and 
baron.  My  mother,  indeed,  tells  us  this  is  a  mean  pride, 
and  that  my  father's  printing-press  is  a  symbol  of  a  truer 
nobility  than  any  crest  of  battle-axe  or  sword  ;  but  our 
grandmother.  I  knoAV,  thinks  it  a  great  condescension  for 
a  Schonberg  to  have  married  into  a  burgher  family.  Fritz 
feels  with  my  mother,  and  says  the  true  crusade  will  be 
waged  by  our  father's  black  types  far  better  than  by  out 
great-grandfather's  lances.  But  the  old  warfare  was  so 
beautiful,  with  the  prancing  horses  and  the  streamhig 
banners  !  And  I  cannot  help  thinking  it  would  have  been 
[)leasanter  to  sit  at  the  Avindow  of  some  grand  old  castle 
like  the  Wartburg,  which  towers  above  our  town,  and 
wa\'e  my  hand  to  Fritz,  as  he  rode,  in  flashing  armour,  on 
his  war-horse,  down  the  steep  hill  side,  instead  of  climbing 
up  on  piles  of  dusty  books  at  oxir  lumber-room  window_ 
and  watching  him,  in  his  humble  burgher  dress,  with  hig 
wallet  (not  too  well  filled),  walk  down  the  street,  while 
no  one  tui-ned  to  look.  Ah,  well !  the  parting  would  have 
been  as  dreary,  and  Fritz  himself  could  not  be  nobler. 
Only  I  cannot  help  seeing  that  people  do  honour  the  bind- 
ings and  the  gilded  titles,  in  spite  of  all  my  mother  and 
Fritz  can  say  ;  and  I  should  like  my  precious  book  to 
have  such  a  binding,  that  the  people  who  could  not  read 
the  inside,  might  yet  stop  to  look  at  the  gold  clasps  and 
the  jewelled  back.  To  those  who  can  read  the  inside, 
perhaps  it  would  not  matter.  For  of  all  the  old  barons 
and  crusades  my  grandmother  tells  us  of,  I  know  well 
none  ever  were  or  looked  nobler  than  our  Fritz.  His 
eyes  are  not  blue,  like  mine — which  are  only  German 
Cotta  eyes,  but  dark  and  flashing.  Mine  are  very  good 
for   seeing,   sewing,   and   helping  about  the    printing  ;    but 


10  THE  scuonbehg-cotta  family. 

Ills,  I  tlinik,  would  penelrato  men's  hearts  and  tonuuand 
them,  or  survey  a  battle-field  at  a  glance. 

Last  week,  however,  when  I  said  something  of  the  kind 
lo  him,  he  laughed  and  said  there  were  better  battle-fields 
than  those  on  which  men's  bones  lay  bleaching  ;  and  then 
there  came  that  deep  look  into  his  eyes,  when  he  seems  to 
»(«  into  a  world  beyond  my  reach. 

But  I  began  with  our  grandmother,  and  here  I  am 
thinking  about  Friedrlch  again.  I  am  afraid  that  will  be 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  my  chronicle.  Fritz  has 
been  nearly  all  the  world  to  me.  I  wonder  if  that  is  why 
he  is  to  leave  n.e.  The  monks  say  we  must  not  love  any 
one  too  much  ;  and  one  day,  when  we  went  to  see  Aunt 
Agnes,  my  mother's  only  sister,  who  is  a  nun  in  the  con- 
vent of  Nimptschen,  I  remember  her  saying  to  me  when  I 
had  been  admiring  the  flowers  in  the  convent  garden, 
"  Little  Else,  will  you  come  and  live  with  us,  and  be  a 
happy,  blessed  sister  here  ?" 

I  said,  "  Whose  sister.  Aunt  Agnes  ?  I  am  Fritz's  sister! 
May  Fritz  come  too  ?" 

"Fritz  could  go  into  the  monastery  at  Eisenach,"  she  said. 

*'  Then  I  would  go  with  him,"  I  said.  "  I  am  Fritz's 
Bister,  and  I  would  go  noAvhere  in  the  world  without  him." 

She  looked  on  me  with  a  cold,  grave  pity,  and  murmured, 
"  Poor  little  one,  she  is  like  her  mother  ;  the  heart  learns 
to  idolize  early.  She  has  much  to  unlearn.  God's  hand 
is  against  all  idols." 

That  is  many  years  ago  ;  but  I  remember,  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  how  the  fair  convent  garden  seenned  to  me  all 
at  once  to  grow  dull  and  cheerkss  at  her  words  and  her 
gra\e  looks,  and  I  felt  it  damp  and  cold,  like  a  church- 
yard ;  and  the  flowers  looked  like  made  flowers  ;  and  the 
walls  seemed  to  rise  like  the  walls  of  a  cave,  and  I  scarcely 
bieathe'i  uutij  I  was  outsid*  aga  n,  and  had  hold  of  Fritz's 
band. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  i . 

For  I  am  not  at  all  religious.  I  am  afraid  I  do  not 
even  wish  to  be.  All  the  religious  men  and  women  I  have 
ever  seen  do  not  seem  to  me  half  so  sweet  as  my  poor 
dear  mother ;  nor  as  kind,  clever,  and  cheerful  as  my 
father ;  nor  half  as  noble  and  good  as  Fritz.  And  the 
Lives  of  the  Saints  puzzle  me  exceedingly,  because  it 
seems  to  me  that  if  every  one  were  to  follow  the  example 
of  St.  Catherine,  and  even  our  own  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hun- 
gary, and  disobey  their  parents,  and  leave  their  little  chil- 
dren, it  would  make  everything  so  very  wrong  and  con- 
fused. I  wonder  if  any  one  else  ever  felt  the  same,  because 
these  are  thoughts  I  have  never  even  told  to  Fritz  ;  for  he 
is  religious,  and  T  am  afraid  it  would  pain  him. 

Our  grandmother's  husband  fled  from  Bohemia  on 
account  of  religion  ;  but  I  am  afraid  it  was  not  the  right 
kind  of  religion,  because  no  one  seems  to  like  to  speak 
about  it ;  and  what  Fritz  and  I  know  about  him  is  only 
what  we  have  picked  up  from  time  to  time,  and  put 
together  for  ourselves. 

Nearly  a  hundred  years  ago,  two-  priests  preached  in 
Bohemia,  called  John  IIuss  and  Jerome  of  Prague. 
They  seem  to  have  been  dearly  beloved,  and  to  have  been 
thought  good  men  during  their  life-time ;  but  people 
must  liave  been  mietaken  about  them,  for  tliey  were  both 
burnt  alive  as  heretics  at  Constance  in  two  following  years 
— in  1415  and  1416  ;  which  of  course  proves  that  they 
could  not  have  been  good  men,  but  exceedingly  bad. 

However,  their  friends  in  Bohemia  would  not  give  up 
believing  what  they  had  learned  of  these  men,  although 
they  had  seen  what  end  it  led  to.  I  do  not  think  this  was 
strange,  because  it  is  so  very  difficult  to  make  oneself 
believe  what  one  ought,  as  it  is,  and  I  do  not  see  that  the 
fear  of  being  burned  even  would  help  one  to  do  it ; 
althouf^h,  certainly,  it  might  keep  one  silent.  But  these 
friends  of  John  IIuss  Avere  many  of  them  nobles  and 


19  THE  SCHONBEEQ-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

great  men,  who  were  not  accustomed  to  conceal  then 
thoughts,  and  they  Avould  not  be  silent  about  what  Husa 
had  taught  tliem.  What  this  was  Fritz  and  I  never 
could  find  out,  because  my  grandmother,  who  answers  all 
our  other  questions,  never  would  tell  us  a  'word  about  this 
We  are,  therefore,  afraid  it  must  be  something  very  wicked 
indeed.  And  yet,  when  I  asked  one  day  if  our  grand 
father,  who,  we  think,  had  followed  Huss,  was  a  wicked 
man,  her  eyes  flashed  like  lightning  and  she  said  vehe- 
mently,— 

"  Better  never  lived  or  died  !" 

This  perjjlexes  us,  but  perhaps  we  shall  understand  it, 
like  so  many  other  things,  when  we  are  older. 

Great  troubles  followed  on  the  death  of  Huss.  Bohe- 
mia was  divided  into  three  parties,  who  fought  against 
each  other.  Castles  were  sacked,  and  noble  women  and 
little  children  were  driven  into  caves  and  forests.  Our 
forefathers  were  among  the  sufferers.  In  1458  the  conflict 
reached  its  height ;  many  were  beheaded,  hung,  burned 
alive,  or  tortured.  My  grandfather  was  killed  as  he  was 
escaping,  and  my  grandmother  encountered  great  dangers, 
and  lost  all  the  little  property  which  was  left  her,  in  reach- 
ing Eisenach,  a  young  widow  with  two  httle  children,  my 
mother  and  Aunt  /gnes. 

Whatever  it  was  that  my  great-grandfather  believed 
wrong,  his  wife  did  not  seem  to  share  it.  She  took 
refuge  in  the  Augustinian  Convent,  where  she  lived  until 
my  Aunt  Agnes  took  the  veil,  and  my  mother  was  married, 
when  she  came  to  live  with  us.  She  is  as  fond  of  Fritz  as 
I  am,  in  her  way  ;  although  she  scolds  us  all  in  turn,  which 
is  perhaps  a  good  thing,  because,  as  she  says,  no  one  elye 
does.  And  she  has  taught  me  nearly  all  I  know,  except 
the  Apostles'  Creed  and  Ten  Commandments,  which  our 
father  taught  us,  and  the  Paternoster  and  Ave  IMary  which 
we  learned  at  our  mother's  knee.     Fritz,  ol  course,  knows 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


«3 


jnfin'itoly  more  than  I  do.  He  can  say  the  Cislo  Janus 
(the  Church  Calendar)  through  without  one  mistake,  and 
also  the  Latin  Grammar,  I  believe  ;  and  he  has  read  Latin 
books  of  which  I  cannot  remember  the  names;  and  he 
understands  all  that  the  priests  read  and  sing,  and  can 
iing  himself  as  well  as  any  of  them. 

But  the  legends  of  the  saints,  and  the  multipication 
table,  and  the  names  of  herbs  and  flowers,  and  the  accoimt 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  of  the  pilgrimage  to  Rome, — 
all  these  our  grandmother  has  taught  us.  She  looks  so 
beautiful,  our  dear  old  grandmother,  as  she  sits  by  the 
stove  with  her  knitting,  and  talks  to  Fritz  and  me,  with 
her  lovely  white  hair  and  her  dark  bright  eyes,  so  full  of 
life  and  youth,  they  make  us  think  of  the  fire  on  the 
hearth  when  the  snow  is  on  the  roof,  all  warm  within,  or, 
as  Fritz  says, — 

"  It  seems  as  if  her  heart  lived  always  in  the  summer, 
and  the  winter  of  old  age  could  only  touch  her  body." 

But  I  think  the  summer  in  which  our  grandmother's 
Boul  lives  must  be  rather  a  fiery  kind  of  summer,  in  which 
there  are  lightnings  as  well  as  sunshine.  Fritz  thinks  wo 
shall  know  her  again  at  the  Resurrection  Day  by  that 
look  in  her  eyes,  only  perhaps  a  little  softened.-  But  that 
seems  to  me  terrible,  and  very  far  off;  and  I  do  not  like 
to  think  of  it.  We  often  debate  which  of  the  samts  she 
is  like.  I  tliink  St.  Anna,  the  mother  of  Mary,  mother  of 
God,  but  Fritz  thinks  St.  Catherine  of  Egypt,  because  she 
is  so  like  a  queen. 

Besides  all  this,  I  had  nearly  forgotten  to  say  1  know 
the  names  of  several  of  the  stars,  which  Fritz  taught  me. 
And  I  can  knit  and  spin,  and  do  point  stitch,  and  embroider 
a  little.  1  intend  to  teach  it  all  to  the  children.  There 
are  a  great  many  children  in  our  home,  and  more  every 
year.  If  there  had  not  been  so  many,  I  might  have  had 
time  to  learn  more,  and  also  to  be  more  religious  •  lut  I 


14  TUE  SVUGNBI£h6-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

cannot  see  what  they  Avoiild  do  at  home  if  I  were  to  liavfc 
a  ^  ccalioii.  Perhaps  some  of  the  younger  or.es  may  he 
spared  to  become  sanits.  1  wonder  if  this  shoukl  turn 
out  to  be  so,  and  if  I  help  them,  if  any  one  ever  found 
<3ome  Httle  humble  place  in  heaven  for  helping  some  one 
else  to  be  religious  !  Because  then  there  might  perhaps 
be  hope  for  me  after  all. 

Our  father  is  the  wisest  man  in  Eisenach.  The  mother 
thniks,  perhaps,  in  the  world.  Of  this,  however,  our 
grandmother  has  doubts.  She  has  soon  other  places  be- 
sides Eisenach,  which  is  perhaps  the  reason.  lie  certainly 
is  the  wisest  man  I  ever  saw.  He  talks  about  more  thing*? 
that  I  cannot  understand  than  any  one  else  I  know.     He 

15  also  a  great  Inventor.  He  thought  of  the  plan  of  printing 
books  before  any  one  else,  and  had  almost  complet-ed  the 
Invention  before  any  press  was  set  up.  And  he  always 
believed  there  was  another  world  on  the  other  side  of  the 
great  sea,  long  before  the  Admiral  Christopher  Columbus 
discovered  America.  The  only  misfortune  has  been  that 
some  one  else  has  always  stepped  in  just  before  he  had 
completed  his  inventions,  when  nothing  but  some  little 
insignificant  detail  w^as  wanting  to  make  everything  per* 
feet,  and  carried  off  all  the  credit  and  profit.  It  is  this 
which  has  kept  us  from  becoming  rich, — this  and  the  chil- 
dren. But  the  father's  temper  is  so  placid  and  even, 
nothing  ever  sours  it.  And  this  is  w^hat  makes  us  ah 
admire  and  love  him  so  much,  even  more  than  his  great 
abilities.  He  seems  to  rejoice  in  these  successes  of  other 
people  just  as  much  as  if  he  had  quite  succeeded  in  jnaking 
them  himself  If  the  mother  laments  a  little  over  the 
fame  that  might  have  been  his,  he  smiles  and  says, — 

"  Never  mind,  little  motl;  er.  It  wall  be  all  the  same  a 
hundred  years  hence.  Let  us  not  grudge  any  on<^  liia  re 
ward.     The  world  has  the  benefit  if  we  have  not," 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


»5 


Tlien  if  tlie  mother  sighs  a  little  o\er  the  scanty  lardei 
and  wardrobe,  he  replies, — 

"  Cheer  up,  httle  motlier,  there  are  more  Americas  yei 
to  be  discovered,  and  more  inventions  to  be  made.  In 
fact,"  he  adds,  with  that  deep,  far-seeing  look  of  his, 
"something  else  has  just  occurred  to  me,  which,  wl:en  I 
have  brought  it  to  perfection,  will  throw  all  the  discover iei 
of  this  and  every  other  age  into  the  shade." 

And  he  kisses  the  mother  and  departs  into  his  printing 
room.  And  the  mother  looks  Avonderingly  aftei  him,  and 
says, — 

"  We  must  not  disturb  the  father,  children,  with  our 
little  cares.  lie  has  great  things  in  his  mind,  which  wf^ 
shall  all  reap  the  har\'est  of  some  day." 

So  she  goes  to  patch  some  little  garment  once  more,  and 
to  try  to  make  one  day's  dinner  expand  into  enough  for  two. 

What  the  father's  great  discovery  is  at  present,  Fritz 
and  I  do  not  quite  know.  But  we  think  it  has  something 
do,  either  with  the  planets  and  the  stars,  or  with  that  won- 
derful stone  the  i)hi]osophers  have  been  so  long  occupied 
about.  In  either  case,  it  is  sure  to  make  us  enormously 
rich  all  at  once ;  and,  meantime,  Ave  may  well  be  content 
to  eke  out  our  living  as  best  we  can. 

Of  the  mother  I  cannot  think  of  anything  to  say.  She 
Is  just  the  mother — our  own  dear,  patient,  loving,  litt  e 
mother — unlike  every  one  else  in  the  world ;  and  yet  it 
seems  as  if  there  was  nothing  to  say  about  her  by  which 
one  could  make  any  one  else  understand  wliat  she  is.  It 
seems  as  if  she  were  to  other  people  (with  reverence  I  rfay 
it)  just  what  the  blessed  Mother  of  God  is  to  the  other 
saints.  St.  Catherine  has  her  wheel  and  her  ci'own,  and 
St.  Agnes  her  lamb  and  her  palm,  and  St.  Ursiila  her 
eleven  thousand  virgins ;  but  Mary,  the  ever-blessed,  liaa 
only  the  Holy  Child.     She  is  the  blessed  woman,  the  lIol;y 


,6  THE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

l^Iother,  and  nothing  else.  That  is  just  what  the  inotl^ei 
is.  She  is  the  precious  little  mother,  and  the  best  woman 
in  the  world,  and  that  is  all.  I  could  describe  hev  better 
by  saying  what  she  is  not.  She  never  says  a  harsh  word 
lo  any  one  or  of  any  one.  She  is  never  impatient  with 
the  father,  like  our  grandmother.  She  is  never  Impatient 
with  the  children,  like  me.  She  never  complains  or  scolds. 
Slie  is  never  idle.  She  never  looks  severe  and  cross  at  us, 
Ske  Aunt  Agnes.  But  I  must  not  compare  her  with  Aunt 
Agnes,  because  she  herself  once  reproved  me  for  doing  so; 
flie  said  Aunt  Agnes  Avas  a  religious,  a  pure,  and  holy 
woiran,  far,  far  above  her  sphere  or  ours ;  and  we  might 
be  thankful,  if  we  ever  reached  heaven,  if  she  let  us  kiss 
■he  hem  of  her  garment. 

Yes,  Aunt  Agnes  is  a  holy  woman — a  nun ;  I  must  be 
oare-ful  what  I  say  of  her.  She  makes  long,  long  prayers, 
ihey  say, — so  long  that  ^he  has  been  found  in  the  morning 
tainting  on  the  cold  lloor  of  the  convent  church.  She  eats 
so  little  that  Father  Christopher,  who  is  the  convent  con- 
fessor and  ours,  says  he  sometimes  thinks  she  must  be  sus- 
tained l)y  angels.  But  Fritz  and  I  think  that,  if  that  ia 
true,  the  angels'  food  cannot  be  very  nourishing  ;  for  when 
we  saw  her  last,  through  the  convent  grating,  she  looked 
like  a  shadow  in  her  black  robe,  or  like  that  dreadful  pic- 
ture of  death  we  saw  in  the  convent  chapel.  She  w^iars 
the  coarsest  sackcloth,  and  often,  they  say,  sleeps  on  ashes. 
One  of  the  nuns  told  my  mother,  that  one  day  when  she 
fainted,  and  they  had  to  unloose  her  dress,  they  f  iind 
scars  and  stripes,  scarcely  healed,  on  her  fair  neck  and 
arms,  which  she  must  have  inllicted  on  herself.  They  all 
say  she  will  have  a  very  high  place  in  heaven  ;  but  it  seems 
to  me,  unless  there  is  a  very  great  difference  between  the 
highest  and  lowest  jilaces  in  heaven,  it  is  a  great  deal  of 
troublo  to  take.     But,  then,  I  am  not  rel'gious;  and  it  \s 


ELSE'S  ST0R7  \^ 

altogelliet  so  exceedingly  difficult  to  me  to  understand 
about  liea\en.  Will  every  one  in  heaven  be  always  strug- 
t^ling  for  the  high  places?  Because  when  every  one  does 
that  at  church  on  the  great  festival  days,  it  is  not  at  all 
pleasant ;  those  who  succeed  look  proud,  and  those  who  foil 
look  cross.  But,  of  course,  no  one  will  be  cross  in  heaven, 
nor  proud.  Then  how  will  the  saints  feel  Avho  do  not  get 
the  highest  places  ?  Will  they  be  pleased  or  disappointed  ? 
If  they  are  pleased,  what  is  the  use  of  struggling  so  much 
to  climb  a  little  higher  ?  And  if  they  are  not  pleased, 
would  that  be  saint-like  ?  Because  the  mother  always 
teaches  iis  to  choose  the  lowest  places,  and  the  eldest  to 
give  up  to  the  little  ones.  Will  the  greatest,  then,  not  give 
up  to  the  little  ones  in  heaven  ?  Of  one  thing  I  feel  sure : 
if  the  mother  had  a  high  place  in  heaven,  she  would  alwaya 
be  stooping  down  to  help  some  one  else  up,  or  making 
room  for  others.  And  then,  what  :ire  the  highest  jjlaces 
in  heaven  ?  At  the  empei'or's  court,  I  know,  they  are  the 
places  nearest  hira;  the  seven  Electors  stand  close  around 
the  throne.  But  can  it  be  possible  that  any  would  ever- 
feel  at  ease,  and  happy  so  \  ery  near  the  Almighty  ?  It 
seems  so  exceedingly  difficult  to  please  Ilim  here,  and  so 
very  easy  to  offend  Ilim,  that  it  does  seem  to  me  it  would 
be  happier  to  be  a  little  further  off,  in  some  little  quiet 
corner  near  the  gate,  with  a  good  many  of  the  saints  be- 
tween. The  other  day,  Father  Christopher  ordered  me 
such  a  severe  penance  for  dropping  a  crumb  of  the  sacred 
Host ;  although  I  could  not  help  thinking  it  ^\■as  as  much 
the  priest's  fault  as  mine.  But  he  said  God  Avould  be  ex 
ceedingly  displeased ;  and  Fritz  told  me  the  priests  fast 
and  torment  themselves  severely  sometimes,  for  only  omit- 
ting a  word  in  the  Mass. 

Then  the  awful  picture  of  the  Lord  Christ,  with  the 
lightnings  in  his  hand !  It  is  very  different  from  the  carv. 
iug  of  him  on  the  cross.     Why  did  he  suffer  so  ?     Was  it, 


1 8  THE  sanONBERi}-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  Y. 

like  Ai  .lit  Agnes,  to  get  a  higher  placu  in  heaven  ?  cr,  per 
haps  to  have  the  right  to  be  severe,  as  slie  is  with  us  ? 
Such  very  strange  things  seem  to  oftend  and  please  God,  1 
cannot  understand  it  at  all ;  but  that  is  because  I  have  no 
vocation  for  religion.  In  the  convent,  the  mother  says, 
tliey  grow  like  God,  and  so  understand  him  better. 

Is  Aunt  Agnes,  then,  more  like  God  than  our  mother  ? 
Tliat  face,  still  and  pale  as  death ;  those  cold,  severe  eyes ; 
that  voice,  so  hollow  and  monotonous,  as  if  it  came  from  a 
metal  tube  or  a  sepulchre,  instead  of  from  a  heart !  Is  it 
with  that  look  God  will  meet  us,  with  that  kind  of  voice 
he  Avill  speak  to  us  ?  Indeed,  the  Judgment-day  is  very 
dreadful  to  think  of;  and  one  must  indeed  need  to  live 
many  years  in  the  convent  not  to  be  afraid  of  going  to 
heaven. 

Oh,  if  only  our  mother  were  the  saint — the  kind  of  good 
woman  that  pleased  God — instead  of  Aunt  Agnes,  how 
Bweet  it  would  be  to  try  and  be  a  saint  then ;  and  how  sure 
one  would  feel  that  one  might  hope  to  reach  heaven,  and 
that,  if  one  reached  it,  one  would  be  happy  there  ! 

Aunt  Ursula  Cotta  is  another  of  the  women  I  wish  were 
the  right  kind  of  saint.  She  is  my  father's  first  cousin's 
wife ;  but  we  \\•^\Q  always  called  her  aunt,  because  almost 
all  little  child I'en  who  know  her  do, — she  is  so  fond  of 
children,  and  so  kind  to  every  one.  She  is  rot  j^oor  like 
us,  although  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta  never  made  any  dis- 
coveries, or  even  nearly  made  any.  There  is  a  picture  of 
St.  Elizabeth,  of  Thuringia,  our  sainted  Landgravine,  ic 
our  ])arish  church,  which  always  makes  me  think  of  Aunt 
Ursula.  St.  Elizabeth  is  standing  at  the  gate  of  a  beauti- 
ful castle,  something  like  our  castle  of  the  Wartburg,  and 
around  her  are  kneeling  a  crowd  of  very  poor  people — 
cripples,  and  blind,  and  poor  thin  mothers,  Avith  littla 
hungry  lookiuir  cliiJdren— -all  stretching  out  their  hand*  to 


ELSE  a  STORY.  i; 

the  lady,  who  m  looking  on  with  such  kindly,  compassion 
ate  looks,  just  like  Aunt  Ursula;  except  that  St.  Elizabeth 
is  very  thin  and  pale,  and  looks  almost  as  nearly  starved 
as  the  beggars  around  her,  and  Aunt  Ursula  is  rosy  and 
Hit,  with  the  pleasantest  dimples  in  her  roimd  face,  Bu{ 
the  look  in  the  eyes  is  the  same — so  loving,  and  true,  and 
earnest,  and  compassionate.  The  thinness  and  pallor  ai'e, 
of  course,  only  just  the  difierence  there  nxast  be  between  a 
saint  who  fasts,  and  does  so  much  penance,  and  keeps  her- 
self awake  whole  nights  saying  prayers,  as  St.  Elizabeth 
did,  and  a  prosperous  burgher's  wife,  whr;  eats  and  sleeps 
like  other  people,  and  is  only  like  the  good  Landgravine  in 
being  so  kind  to  every  one. 

The  other  half  of  the  story  of  the  pic^-ure,  however, 
would  not  do  for  Aunt  Ursula.  In  the  apron  of  the  saint,  in- 
stead of  loaves  of  bread  are  beautiful  clusters  of  ved  roses. 
Our  grandmother  told  us  the  meaning  of  this.  The  good 
Landgravine's  husband  did  not  quite  like  hex  giving  so 
much  to  the  poor  ;  because  she  was  so  generous  she  would 
have  left  the  treasury  bare.  So  she  used  to  give  h^.v  alms? 
unknown  rto  liim.  But  on  this  day  when  she  was  giving 
away  those  loaves  to  the  beggar  at  the  castle  gate,  he 
happened  suddenly  to  return,  and  finding  her  occupied  in 
this  way,  he  asked  her  rather  severely  Avhat  she  had  in  h&r 
apron.     She  said  "  roses  !  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  Landgrave. 

And  God  loved  her  so  much,  that  to  save  her  from  being 
bhtnifcd,  he  wrought  a  miracle.  When  she  opened  hei 
a]»ion,  instead  of  tJie  loaves  she  had  been  distributing, 
there  were  beautiful  flowers.  And  this  is  what  the  picture 
represents,  I  always  wanted  to  know  the  end  of  the 
stoi-y.  I  hoj)e  God  worked  another  miracle  when  the 
liandgrave  went  away,  and  changed  the  roses  back  into 
loaves.  I  suppose  lie  did,  because  the  starving  peo])le 
look  so  contented      But  our  grandmother  does  not  know. 


,c  THE  &'je6ndero-cotta  family. 

Only  in  this,  I  do  not  tliink  Aunt  Ursula  s\  ould  hivve  done 
the  same  as  the  Landgravine,  I  think  she  would  have 
Baid  boldly  if  Cousin  Cotta  had  asked  her,  "  I  have  loaves 
in  my  apron,  and  I  am  giving  them  to  these  poor  starving 
subjects  of  yours  and  mine,"  and  never  been  afraid  of 
what  he  would  say.  And  then,  perhaps,  Cousin  Cotta — 1 
mean  the  Landgrave's — heart  would  have  been  so  touched, 
Ihat  he  would  have  forgiven  her,  and  even  praised  her, 
and  brought  her  soii^  more  loaves.  And  then  instead  of 
the  bread  being  changed  to  flowers,  the  Landgrave's  heart 
would  have  been  changed  from  stone  to  flesh,  which  does 
seem  a  better  thing.  But  when  I  once  said  this  to  grand- 
mother, she  said  it  was  very  wrong  to  fancy  other  ends  to 
the  legends  of  the  saints,  just  as  if  they  were  fairy  tales; 
that  St.  Elizabeth  really  lived  in  that  old  castle  of  the 
Wartburg  little  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago,  and 
walked  through  those  very  streets  of  Eisenach,  aud  gave 
alms  to  the  poor  here,  and  went  into  the  hospitals,  and 
di-essed  the  most  loathsome  wounds  that  no  one  else  would 
touch,  and  spoke  tender  loving  words  to  wretched  out- 
casts no  one  else  would  look  at.  That  seems  to  me  so 
good  and  dear  of  her ;  but  that  is  not  what  made  her  a 
eaint,  because  Aunt  Ursula  and  our  mother  do  things  like 
that,  and  our  mother  has  told  me  again  aud  again  that  it 
is  Aunt  Agnes  who  is  like  the  saint,  and  not  she. 

It  is  Avhat  she  sufiered,  I  suppose,  that  has  made  them 
put  her  in  the  Calei^dar;  and  yet  it  is  not  suffering  in  it- 
self that  makes  people  saints,  because  I  don't  believe  St. 
Elizabeth  herself  suffered  more  than  our  mother.  It  ia 
true  she  used  to  leave  her  husband's  side  and  kneel  all 
night  on  the  cold  floor,  while  he  was  asleep.  But  the 
mother  has  done  the  same  as  that  often  and  often.  When 
any  of  the  little  ones  has  been  ill,  how  often  she  has  \valked 
up  and  doAvu  hour  after  hour,  with  the  sick  child  in  her 
krras,  soothing  and  fondling  it,  and  quieting  all  its  fretful 


ELSE'S  STORY.  % 

oriss  with  uuvs''earying  lender  patience.   TT^/eu  St.  EUzal)eth 

fasted  until  she  was  almost  a  shadow;  but  how  often  have 
I  seen  our  mother  quietly  distribute  all  that  was  nice  and 
good  in  our  frugal  meals  to  my  father  and  the  children, 
scarcely  leaving  herself  a  bit,  and  lading  her  plate  beliind 
rt  dish  that  the  father  might  not  see.  And  Fritz  and  I 
often  say  how  wasted  and  worn  she  looks ;  not  like  tho 
Mother  of  Mercy  as  we  remember  her,  but  too  much  like 
the  wan  pale  Mother  of  Sorrows  w^h  the  pierced  heart. 
Then  as  to  pain,  have  not  I  seen  our  mother  suffer  pain 
compared  with  which  Aunt  Agnes  or  St.  Elizabeth's  dis- 
cipline must  be  like  the  prick  of  a  pin. 

But  yet  all  that  is  not  the  right  kind  of  suffering  to  make 
a  saint.  Our  precious  mother  walks  up  and  down  all 
night  not  to  make  herself  a  saint,  but  to  soothe  her  sick 
child.  She  eats  no  dinner,  not  because  she  chooses  to  fast, 
but  because  we  are  poor,  and  bread  is  dear.  She  suffers, 
because  God  lays  suffering  upon  her,  not  because  she  takea 
it  on  herself  And  all  this  cannot  make  her  a  saint.  When 
I  say  anything  to  compassionate  or  to  honor  her,  she 
smiles  and  says, — 

"  My  Else,  I  chose  this  lower  life  instead  of  the  high 
vocation  of  your  Aunt  Agnes,  and  I  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. We  camiot  have  our  portion  both  in  this  Avorld 
and  the  next." 

If  the  size  of  our  mother's  portion  in  the  next  world 
were  to  bo  in  proportion  to  its  smallness  in  this,  I  think 
ehe  might  liave  plenty  to  spare ;  but  this  I  do  not  venture 
CO  say  to  her. 

There  is  one  thing  St.  Elizabeth  did  which  certainly  our 
mother  would  never  do.  She  left  her  little  fatherless 
children  to  go  into  a  convent.  Perhaps  it  was  this  tJial 
pleased  God  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  so  very  much,  that 
ihey  took  lier  up  to  be  so  high  in  heaven.  If  this  is  the 
ca«e,  it  is  a  great  mercy  for  our  father  and  for  as  that  onr 


12  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY 

mother  has  not  set  her  heart  on  being  a  saint.  We  some- 
times think,  howevor,  that  perhaps  although  He  cannot 
make  her  a  ^aint  on  account  of  the  rules  they  have  in 
heaven  about  H,  G  jd  may  give  our  mother  some  little  good 
tiling,  or  som^i  kind  word,  because  of  her  being  so  very 
good  to  us.  She  says  this  is  no  merit,  however,  becauso 
it  is  her  loving  us  so  much.  If  she  loved  US'  less,  and  so 
found  it  morQ  a  trouble  to  work  for  us ;  or  if  we  were 
little  strangfi'  beggar  children  she  chose  to  be  kind  to,  in- 
stead of  her  own,  I  suppose  God  would  like  it  better. 

There  is  ^ne  thing,  moreover,  in  St.  Elizabeth's  history 
which  cnc*»  brought  Fritz  and  me  into  great  trouble  and 
perplexity.  When  we  Avere  little  children,  and  did  not 
understand  things  as  we  do  now,  but  thought  we  ought  to 
try  and  imitate  the  saints,  and  that  Avhat  v/as  right  for 
them  must  be  right  for  us,  and  when  our  grandmother  had 
been  telling  us  about  the  holy  Landgravine  privately  sell- 
ing her  jewels,  and  emptying  her  husband's  treasury  to 
feed  the  poor,  we  resolved  one  day  to  go  and  do  likewise. 
We  knew  a  very  poor  old  woman  in  the  next  street,  with 
a  g-eat  many  orphan  grandchildren,  and  we  planned  a  long 
time  together  before  we  thought  of  the  Avay  to  help  her 
Mke  St.  Elizabeth.  At  length  the  opportunity  came.  It 
was  Christmas  eve,  and  for  a  rarity  there  were  some  meat, 
and  apples,  and  pies  in  our  store-room.  We  crept  into  the 
room  in  the  twilight,  filled  our  aprons  with  pies,  and  meat, 
and  cakes,  and  stole  out  to  our  old  woman's  to  give  her 
our  booty. 

Tlie  next  morning  the  larder  was  foui\d  despoiled  of 
half  of  Avhat  was  to  have  been  our  Christmas  dinner.  The 
children  cried,  and  the  mother  looked  almost  as  distressed 
as  they  did.  The  father's  placid  temper  for  once  was 
roused,  and  he  cursed  the  cat  and  tlie  rats,  and  wished  he 
had  completed  his  new  infallible  rat  trap.  Our  graad* 
mother  said  Aery  quietly, — 


ELSE'S  STOBT.  aj 

"  Thieves  more  discriminating  than  rats  or  mice  hav« 
bren  here.  There  are  no  crumhs,  and  not  a  thing  is  out 
of  place.  Besides,  I  never  heard  of  rats  or  mice  eating 
pie-dishes." 

Fritz  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  and  began  to  fear  we 
had  done  wrong,  when  little  Christopher  said,— 

•'  I  saw  Fritz  and  Else  cany  out  the  pies  last  night." 

"  Else !  Fritz !"  said  our  father,  "  wliat  does  thia 
mean  ?" 

I  would  have  confessed,  but  I  remembered  St.  Elizabeth 
aiid  the  roses,  and  said,  Avith  a  trembling  voice, — 

"  They  were  not  pies  you  saw,  Christopher,  but  roses." 

"  Roses,"  said  the  mother  very  gravely,  "  at  Christ- 
mas !" 

I  almost  hoped  the  pies  would  have  reappeared  on  the 
shelves.  It  was  the  very  juncture  at  which  they  did  in 
the  legend  ;  but  they  did  not.  On  the  contrary  every- 
thing seemed  to  turn  against  us. 

"  Fritz,"  said  our  father,  very  sternly,  "  tell  the  truth^ 
or  I  shall  give  you  a  flogging." 

This  was  a  part  of  the  story  where  St.  Elizabeth's 
example  quite  failed  us.  I  did  not  know  what  she  would 
have  done  if  some  one  else  had  been  punished  for  her 
generosity  ;  but  I  felt  no  doubt  what  I  must  do. 

"  O  father  !"  I  said,  "  it  is  my  fault — it  was  my  thought ! 
We  took  these  things  to  the  poor  old  woman  in  the  next 
street  for  her  grandchildren." 

"  Then  she  is  no  better  than  a  thief,"  said  our  father, 
'  to  have  taken  them.  Fritz  and  Else,  foolish  children 
shall  have  no  Christmas  dinner  for  their  pains  ;  and  Else 
ehall,  moreover,  be  locked  into  her  own  room,  for  telling  a 
story." 

I  was  sitting  shivering  in  my  room,  wondering  how  it 
was  that  things  succeeded  so  differently  with  St.  Elizabeth 
and  with  us   when  Aunt  Ursula's  round   pleasant  voice 


i4  THE  8Cn6NBERG'C0TTA  FAMILY. 

Bouiuled  up  the  stairs,  and  in  another  minute  she  wai 
holding  me  laughing  in  her  arms. 

"  My  poor  little  Else !  We  must  wait  a  Utile  befoie 
we  imitate  our  patron  saint ;  or  we  must  begin  at  ih* 
other  end.  It  would,  never  do,  for  instance,  for  me  Ui 
ti-avel  to  Rome  with  eleven  thousand  yoxmg  ladies  like  St 
LTrsuIa." 

My  grandmother  liad  guessed  the  meaning  of  our  foray, 
and  Aunt  Ursula  coming  in  at  the  time,  had  heard  the 
narrative,  and  insisted  on  sending  us  another^  Christmas 
dinner.  Fritz  and  I  secretly  believed  that  St.  Ehzabeth 
had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  replacing  of  o;ir  Christmaa 
dinner  ;  but  after  that,  we  understood  that  caution  was 
needed  in  transferring  the  holy  example  of  the  saints  to 
our  own  lives,  and  that  at  present  we  must  not  venture 
beyond  the  ten  commandments. 

Yet  to  think  that  St.  Elizabeth,  a  real  canonized  saint — 
whose  picture  is  over  altars  in  the  churches — whose  good 
deeds  are  painted  on  the  church  windows,  and  illumined 
by  the  sun  shining  through  them — whose  bones  are  laid 
up  in  reliquaries,  one  of  which  I  wear  always  next  my 
heart — actually  lived  and  prayed  in  that  dark  old  castle 
above  us,  and  walked  along  these  very  streets — perhaps 
even  had  been  seen  from  this  window  of  Fritz's  and  my 
beloved  lumber-room. 

Only  a  hundred  years  ago  !  If  only  I  had  lived  a  hun- 
dred years  earlier,  or  she  a  hundred  years  later,  I  might 
have  seen  her  and  talked  to  her,  and  asked  her  what  it 
was  that  made  her  a  saint.  There  are  so  many  questions 
I  should  like  to  have  asked  her.  I  Avould  have  said, 
"  Dear  St.  Elizabeth,  tell  me  what  it  is  that  makes  you  a 
saint  ?  It  canrot  be  your  charity,  because  no  one  can  be 
more  charitable  than  Aunt  Ursula,  and  she  is  not  a  saint ; 
and  it  cannot  be  your  sufferings,  or  your  patience,  or  your 
love,  or  your  denying  yourself  for  the  sake  of  others  b& 


SLSE'S  8T0ET. 

cause  our  mother  is  like  you  in  all  that,  5iid  the  h 
eaiut  Was  it  because  you  left  your  little  children,  that 
God  loves  you  so  much  ?  or  because  you  not  only  did  and 
bore  the  things  God  laid  on  you,  as  our  mother  does,  but 
chose  out  other  things  for  yourself,  which  you  though^, 
harder  ?  "  And  if  she  Avere  gentle  (as  I  think  she  was), 
Rud  would  have  listened,  I  would  have  asked  her,  "  Holy 
Landgravine,  why  are  things  which  were  so  right  and  holy 
in  you,  Avrong  for  Fritz  and  me  ?  "  And  I  would  also  have 
asked  her,  "  Dear  St.  Elizabeth,  my  patroness,  what  is  it 
in  heaven  that  makes  you  so  happy  there  ?  " 

But  I  forgot — she  would  not  have  been  in  heaven  at  ah. 
She  woixld  not  even,  have  been  made  a  saint,  because  it  was 
only  after  her  death,  when  the  sick  and  crippled  were 
healed  by  touching  her  body,  that  they  found  out  %vhat  a 
saint  she  had  been.  Perhaps,  even,  she  would  not  herself 
have  known  she  was  a  saint.  And  if  so,  I  wonder  if  it  can 
be  i^ossible  that  our  mother  is  a  saint  after  all,  only  she 
does  not  know  it ! 

Fritz  and  I  are  four  or  five  years  older  than  any  of  the 
children.  Two  little  sisters  died  of  the  plague  before  any 
more  were  born.  One  was  baptized,  and  died  when  she 
was  a  year  old,  before  she  could  soil  her  baptismal  robes. 
Therefore  we  feel  sure  she  is  in  paradise.  I  thmk  of  her 
whenever  I  look  at  the  cloud  of  glory  around  the  Blessed 
Virgin  in  St.  George's  Church.  Out  of  the  cloud  peep  a 
number  of  hai)i)y  child-faces — some  leaning  their  round 
Boft  cheeks  on  their  j^retty  dimpled  hands,  and  all  looking 
uj)  with  such  confidence  at  the  dear  mother  of  God.  1 
suppose  the  little  children  in  heaven  especially  belong  to 
her.     It  must  be  very  happy,  then,  to  have  died  young. 

Bui  of  that  other  little  nameless  babe  who  died  at  the 
Bame  time  none  of  us  ever  dare  to  speak.  It  was  not  bap- 
tized, and  they  say  the  souls  of  little  unbaptized  babei 
2 


,6  TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAmLY. 

lio\er  about  for  ever  in  the  darkness  between  heaven  an 3 
hell.  Think  of  the  horror  of  falling  from  the  loving  arms 
of  our  mother  into  the  cold  and  the  darkness,  to  shiver  and 
wail  there  for  ever,  and  belong  to  no  one.  At  Eisenach 
we  ha^e  a  Foundling  Hospital,  attached  to  one  of  the 
nunneries  founded  b}'^  St.  Elizabeth,  for  such  forsaken  little 
onas.  If  St.  Elizabeth  could  only  establish  a  Foundling* 
somewhere  near  the  gates  of  para^dise  for  such  little  name- 
less outcast  child-souls  !  But  I  suppose  slie  is  too  high  in 
heaven,  and  too  far  from  the  gates  to  hear  tlie  plaintive 
cries  of  such  abandoned  little  ones.  Or  perhaps  God,  who 
was  so  much  pleased  with  her  for  deserting  her  own  little 
children,  would  not  allow  it.  I  suppose  the  saints  in 
heaven  who  have  been  mothers,  or  even  elder  sisters  like 
me,  leave  their  mother's  hearts  on  earth,  and  that  in  para- 
dise they  are  all  monks  and  nuns  like  Aunt  Agnes  and 
Father  Christopher. 

Next  to  that  little  nameless  one  came  the  twin  girls 
Chriemhild,  named  after  our  grandmother,  and  Atlantis, 
60  christened  by  our  father  on  account  of  the  discovery  of 
the  great  world  beyond  the  sea,  which  he  had  so  often 
thought  of,  and  which  the  great  admiral,  Christopher  Col- 
umbus, accomplished  about  that  time.  Then  the  twin 
boys  Boniface  Pollux  and  Christopher  Castor ;  their  names 
being  a  compromise  between  our  father,  who  was  struck 
wdth  some  remarkable  conjunction  of  their  stars  at  their 
birth,  and  my  mother,  fho  thought  it  only  right  to  coun- 
ter-balance  such  Pagan  appellations  with  names  written  iu 
heaven.  Then  another  boy,  who  only  lived  a  few  weeks; 
and  then  the  present  baby,  The! la,  who  is  the  plaything 
and  darling  of  us  all. 

Tliese  are  nearly  all  the  people  I  know  well,  except,  in 
deed,  Martin  Luther,  the  miner's  son,  to  whotn  Aum 
Ursula  Cotta  has  been  so  kind.     lie  is  dear  to  us  all  aa 


BLSE'S  8 TORT. 


*y 


tune  of  our  own  family.  He  is  about  the  same  age  as 
Fritz,  ^^ho  thinks  tliere  is  no  one  like  him.  And  he  has 
such  a  voice,  and  is  so  religious,  and  yet  so  merry  withal ; 
at  least  at  times.  It  was  his  voice  and  his  devout  ways 
which  first  drew  Aunt  Ursxila's  attention  to  him.  She 
had.  seen  him  often  at  the  daily  prayers  at  church.  He 
used  to  sing  as  a  chorister  with  the  boys  of  the  Latin 
school  of  the  parish  of  St.  George,  where  Fritz  and  he 
studied.  The  ringing  tones  of  his  voice,- so  clear  and  true, 
often  attracted  Aunt  Ursula's  attention ;  and  he  always 
seemed  so  devout.  But  we  knew  little  about  him.  Ke 
was  very  jioor,  and  'had  a  pinched,  half-starved  look  when 
first  we  noticed  him.  Often  I  have  seen  him  on  the  cold 
winter  evenings  singing  about  the  streets  for  alms,  and 
thankfully  receive  a  few  pieces  of  broken  bread  and  meat 
at  the  doors  of  the  citizens ;  for  ho  was  never  a  bold  and 
impudent  beggar  as  some  of  the  scholars  are.  Our  ac- 
quaintance with  him,  however,  began  one  day  which  I 
remember  well.  I  was  at  Aunt  Ursula's  house,  which  ia 
in  George  Street,  near  the  church  and  school.  I  had 
watched  the  choir  of  boys  singing  from  door  to  door 
through  the  street.  No  one  had  given  them  anything: 
they  looked  disappointed  and  hungry.  At  last  they  stop- 
ped before  the  window  where  Aunt  Ursula  and  I  were 
sitting  with  her  little  boy.  That  clear,  high,  ringing  voice 
was  there  again.  Aunt  Ursula  went  to  the  door  and  called 
Martin  in,  and  then  she  went  herself  to  the  kitchen,  and 
after  giving  him  a  good  meal  himself,  sent  him  away  Avilh 
his  wallet  full,  and  told  him  to  come  again  very  soon. 
After  that,  I  suppose  she  consulted  with  Cousin  Conrad 
Cotta,  and  the  result  was  that  Martin  Luther  cecame  an 
mmate  of  their  house,  and  has  livod  among  us  famiharly 
since  then  like  one  of  our  OAvn  cousins. 

He  is  Avonderfiilly  changed  since  that  day.     Scarcely 
any  one  would  ha\  e  thought  then  what  a  joyouu  nature  Kim 


t8  THE  8Un6NBERQ-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

is.  Tlie  only  thing  in  which  it  seemed  then  to  flciw  out 
was  in  his  clear  true  voice.  He  was  subdued  and  <"imid 
like  a  creature  that  had  been  brought  up  without  love. 
Espocially  he  used  to  be  shy  with  young  maidens,  and 
&eemed  afraid  to  look  in  a  woman's  face.  I  think  they 
must  have  been  very  severe  with  him  at  home.  Indeed, 
he  confessed  to  Fritz  that  he  had  often,  as  a  child,  been 
b(;aten  till  the  blood  came,  for  trifling  ofienoes,  jmch  as 
taking  a  nut,  and  that  he  was  afraid  to  play  in  his  parents' 
presence.  And  yet  he  would  not  bear  a  word  reflecting 
on  his  parenl^.  He  says  his  mother  is  the  most  pious 
woman  in  Manefield,  where  his  family  live,  and  his  father 
denies  himself  in  every  way  to  maintain  and  educate  his 
children,  especially  Martin,  who  is  to  be  the  learned  man 
of  the  family.  His  parents  are  inured  to  hardship  them- 
selves, and  believe  it  to  be  the  best  early  discipline  for 
boys.  Certainly  poor  Martin  had  enough  of  hardship 
here.  But  that  may  be  the  fault  of  his  mother's  relations 
at  Eisenach,  who,  they  hoped,  would  have  been  kind  to 
him,  but  who  do  not  seem  to  have  cared  for  him  at  all. 
At  one  time  he  told  Fritz  he  was  so  pinched  and  dis- 
couraged by  the  extreme  poverty  he  sufiered,  that  he 
tliought  of  giving  up  study  in  despair,  and  returning 
to  Mansfield  to  work  with  his  father  at  the  smelting  fur- 
naces, or  m  the  mines  under  the  mountains.  Yet  indig- 
nant tears  start  to  his  eyes  if  any  one  ventures  to  hint  that 
lis  father  might  have  done  more  for  him.  He  was  a  poor 
digger  in  the  mines,  he  told  Fritz,  and  often  he  had  seen 
his  mother  carrying  fire-wood  on  her  shoulders  from  the 
pine-woods  near  Mansfield. 

But  it  was  in  the  monastic  schools,  no  doubt,  that  he 
learned  to  be  so  sliy  and  grave.  He  had  been  taught  to 
look  on  married  life  as  a  low  and  evil  thhig ;  and,  of  course» 
we  all  knew  it  cannot  be  bo  high  and  pure  as  the  Ufe  in  the 
convent.     I  remember  now  his  look  of  wonder  when  Aunt 


ETLSE'S  8T0R7.  99 

Ursula,  who  is  not  fond  of  monks,  said  to  liim  one  day, 
*'  There  is  nothing  on  earth  more  lovely  than  the  love  of 
husband  and  wife,  when  it  is  in  the  tear  of  God." 

In  the  warmth  of  her  bright  and  sunny  heart,  his  whole 
nature  seemed  to  open  like  the  flowers  in  summer.  And 
now  there  is  none  in  all  our  circle  so  popular  and  sociable 
as  he  is.  He  plays  on  the  lute,  and  sings  as  we  think  no 
one  else  can.  And  our  children  all  love  him,  he  tells  them 
Buch  strange,  beautiful  stories  about  enchanted  gardens 
and  crusaders,  and  about  his  own  childhood,  among  the 
pine-forests  and  the  mines. 

It  is  from  Martin  Luther,  indeed,  that  I  have  heard  more 
than  from  any  one  else,  except  from  our  grandmother,  of 
the  great  world  beyond  Eisenach.  He  has  lived  already 
in  tliree  other  towns,  so  that  he  is  quite  a  traveller,  and 
and  knows  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  although  he  is  not 
yet  twenty.  Our  father  has  certainly  told  us  wonderful 
things  about  the  great  islands  beyond  the  seas  which  the 
Admiral  Columbus  discovered,  and  which  will  one  day,  he 
is  sure,  be  found  to  be  only  the  other  side  of  the  Indies 
and  Tokay  and  Araby.  Already  the  Spaniards  have  found 
gold  in  those  islands,  and  our  father  has  little  doubt  that 
they  are  the  Ophir  from  which  king  Solomon's  ships 
brought  the  gold  for  the  Temple.  Also,  he  has  told  us 
about  the  strange  lands  in  the  south,  in  Africa,  where  the 
dwarfs  live,  and  the  black  gianta  and  the  great  hairy  men 
who  climb  the  trees  and  make  nests  there,  and  the  dread- 
ful men-eaters,  and  the  people  who  have  their  heads  be- 
tween their  shoulders.  But  we  have  not  yet  met  with 
any  one  who  has  seen  all  these  wonders,  so  that  Martin 
Luther  and  our  grandmother  are  the  greatest  travellers 
Fritz  and  I  are  acquainted  with. 

Martin  was  born  at  Eisleben.  Ilis  mother's  is  a  burgher 
family.  Three  of  her  brothers  live  here  at  Eisenach,  and 
here  she  waa  married.     But  his  father  came  of  a  peasanl 


$0 


TEE  SCnONBEHG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


race.  His  grandfathei  had  a  little  farm  of  his  own  al 
Mora,  among  the  Tlmringian  pine  forests ;  but  Martii.'a 
father  was  the  second  son ;  their  little  property  went  to 
tke  eldest,  and  he  became  a  miner,  went  to  Eislebea,  and 
then  settled  at  Mansfeld,  near  the  Ilartz  mountains,  \vher« 
the  silver  and  copper  lie  buried  in  the  earth. 

At  Mansfeld  Martin  Luther  lived  until  he  was  niiietee> 
I  should  like  to  see  the  place.  It  must  be  so  strange  to 
watch  the  great  furnaces,  where  they  fuse  the  copper  and 
smelt  the  precious  silver,  gleaming  through  the  pine-woods, 
for  they  burn  all  through  the  night  in  the  clearings  of  the 
forest.  When  Martin  wus  a  little  boy  he  may  have  watched 
by  them  with  his  father,  who  now  has  furnaces  and  a  foun- 
dry of  his  own.  Then  there  are  the  deep  pits  under  the 
hills,  out  of  which  come  from  time  to  time  troops  of  grim- 
looking  miners.  Martin  is  fond  of  the  miners ;  they  ar« 
such  a  brave  and  hearty  ^ace,  and  they  have  fine  bold  song« 
and  choruses  of  their  own  which  he  can  sing,  and  wiW 
original  pastimes.  Chess  is  a  favourite  game  with  them. 
They  are  thoughtful,  too,  as  men  may  well  be  who  di\e 
into  the  secrets  of  the  earth.  Martin,  when  a  boy,  haa 
often  gone  into  the  dark,  mysterious  pits  and  winding  cav- 
erns with  them,  and  seen  the  veins  of  precious  ore.  He 
has  also  often  seen  foreigners  of  various  nations.  They 
3ome  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  Mansfeld  for  silver, — • 
from  Bavailtt  and  Switzerland,  and  even  from  the  beautiful 
S^enice,  which  is  a  city  of  palaces,  where  the  streets  are 
canals  filled  by  the  blue  sea,  and  instead  of  waggons  they 
use  boats,  from  which  people  land  on  the  marble  steps  of 
the  palaces.  All  these  things  Martin  has  heard  described 
by  those  who  have  really  seen  them,  besides  what  he  ha8 
seen  himself  His  father  also  frequently  used  to  have  the 
schoolmasters  and  learned  men  at  his  house,  that  his  sons 
might  profit  by  their  wise  corversation.  But  T  doubt  i 
he  can  have  enjoyed  this  so  much.     It  must  have  beeb 


ELSE'S  STORY.  3 

difficult  to  forget  the  rod  with  which  once  he  was  beaten 
fourteen  times  in  one  morning,  so  as  to  feel  sufficiently  at 
ease  to  enjoy  their  conversation.  Old  Count  Gnnther  of 
Mansfcid  thinks  mnch  of  Martin's  father,  and  often  used 
to  send  for  him  to  consult  him  about  the  niines. 

Their  house  at  Mansfekl  stood  at  some  distance  from  the 
jrnool-house  which  was  on  the  hill,  so  that,  when  he  waa 
little,  an  older  boy  used  to  be  kind  to  him,  and  carry  him 
in  his  arms  to  school.  I  daresay  that  was  in  winter,  when 
bis  little  feet  were  swollen  with  chilblains,  and  his  poor 
mother  used  to  go  up  to  the  woods  to  gather  faggots  for 
the  hearth. 

His  mother  must  be  a  very  good  and  holy  woman,  but 
not,  I  fancy,  quite  like  our  mother ;  rather  more  like  Aunt 
Agnes.  I  think  I  should  have  been  rather  afraid  of  her. 
Martin  says  she  is  very  religious.  lie  honours  and  loves 
her  very  much,  although  she  was  very  strict  with  him,  and 
once,  he  told  Fritz,  beat  him,  for  taking  a  nut  from  their 
stores,  until  the  blood  came.  She  must  be  a  brave,  truth 
ful  woman,  who  would  not  spare  herself  or  others ;  but  1 
think  I  should  have  felt  more  at  home  with  his  father,  Avho 
used  so  often  to  kneel  beside  Martin's  bed  at  night,  and 
pray  God  to  make  him  a  good  and  useful  man.  Martin's 
father,  however,  does  not  seem  so  fond  of  the  monks  and 
nuns,  and  is  therefore,  I  suppose,  not  so  religious  as  his 
mother  is.  He  does  not  at  all  wish  Martin  to  become  a 
priest  or  a  monk,  but  to  be  a  great  lawyer,  0/  doctor,  or 
professor  at  some  university. 

Mansfeld,  however,  is  a  very  holy  place.  There  are 
many  monasteries  and  nunneries  there,  and  in  one  of  them 
two  of  the  countesses  were  nuns.  There  is  also  a  castle 
thei-e,  and  our  St.  Elizabeth  worked  miracles  there  as  well 
as  here.  The  devil  afso  is  not  idle  at  Mansfeld.  A  wicked 
old  witch  lived  close  to  Martin's  house,  and  used  to  frightea 
and  distress  his  mother  much,  bewitching  the  children  so 


jx  THE  S<JB6NBER0-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

that  they  nearly  cried  themselves  to  death.  Once  even, 
It  is  said,  the  devil  himself  got  up  into  the  pulpit,  and 
pi  cached,  of  course  in  disguise.  But  in  all  the  legends  it 
if.  the  same.  The  devil  never  seems  so  busy  as  where  the 
saints  are,  which  is  another  reason  why  1  feel  how  difficult 
it  would  be  to  be  religious. 

Martin  had  a  sweet  voice,  and  loved  music  as  a  chile' 
and  he  used  often  to  sing  at  p  eople's  doors  as  he  did  here. 
Once,  at  Christmas  time,  he  Avas  singing  carols  from  village 
to  village  among  the  woods  with  other  boys,  when  a  peas- 
ant came  to  the  door  of  his  hut,  where  they  were  singing, 
and  said  in  a  loud  gruff  voice,  "Where  are  you,  boys?" 
The  children  were  so  frightened  that  they  scampered 
away  as  fast  as  they  could,  and  only  found  out  afterwards 
that  the  man  with  a  rough  voice  had  a  kind  heart,  and  had 
brought  them  out  some  sausages.  Poor  Martin  Avas  used 
to  blows  in  those  days,  and  had  good  reason  to  dread 
them.  It  must  have  been  pleasant,  however,  to  hear  the 
boys'  voices  carolling  through  the  woods  about  Jesus 
born  at  Bethlehem.  Voices  echo  so  strangely  among  the 
silent  pine-forests. 

When  Martin  was  thirteen  he  left  Mansfeld  and  went 
to  Magdeburg,  where  the  archbishop  Ernest  lives,  the 
brother  of  our  Elector,  Avho  has  a  beautiful  palace,  and 
twelve  trumpeters  to  play  to  him  ahvays  when  he  is  at 
dinner.  ]\Iagdeburg  must  be  a  magnificent  city,  very 
nearly,  we  think,  as  grand  as  Rome  itself.  There  is  a 
great  cathedral  there,  and  knights  and  princes  and  many 
BolJiers,  who  prance  about  the  streets ;  and  tournaments 
and  splendid  festivals.  Bui  our  Martin  heard  more  than 
he  saw  of  all  this.  He  and  John  Reineck  of  Mansfeld  (a 
boy  older  than  himself,  who  is  one  of  his  greatest  friends), 
went  to  the  school  of  the  Franciscan  Cloister,  and  had  to 
spend  their  tim(j  with  the  monks,  or  sing  about  the  stree^Ji 
for  bread,  oi  in  the  church-yard  when  the  Franciscans  in 


ELSE'S  STORY  33 

their  grey  robes  M'ont  there  to  fulfil  their  office  of  burying 
the  dead.  But  it  was  not  for  him,  the  miner's  son,  to 
complain,  when,  as  he  says,  he  used  to  see  a  Prince  of 
Anhalt  going  about  the  streets  in  a  cowl  begging  bread, 
v,ith  a  sack  on  his  shoulders  Uke  a  beast  of  burden,  inso- 
much that  he  was  bowed  to  the  ground.  The  poor  prince, 
Martin  said,  had  fasted  and  watched  and  mortified  his 
flesh  until  he  looked  like  an  image  of  death,  with  only 
skin  and  bones.     Indeed,  shortly  after  he  died. 

At  Magdeburg  also,  Martin  saw  the  picture  of  whioh 
he  has  often  told  us.  "A  great  ship  was  painted,  meant 
to  signify  the  Church,  wherein  there  was  no  layman,  not 
even  a  king  or  prince.  There  were  none  but  the  pope 
with  his  cardinals  and  bishops  in  the  prow,  vrith  the  Holy 
Ghost  hovering  over  them,  the  priests  and  monks  with 
their  oars  at  the  side ;  and  thus  they  were  sailing  og 
heavenward.  The  laymen  were  swimming  along  in  the 
water  around  the  ship.  Some  of  them  were  drowning  • 
Borne  were  drawing  themselves  up  to  the  ship  by  mean? 
of  ropes,  which  the  monks,  moved  with  pity,  and  making 
over  their  own  good  works,  did  cast  out  to  them  to  keep 
them  from  drowning,  and  to  enable  them  to  cleave  to  the 
vessel  and  to  go  with  the  others  to  heaven.  There  was 
no  pope,  nor  cardinal,  nor  bishop,  nor  priest,  nor  monk  in 
the  water,  but  laymen  only." 

It  must  have  been  a  very  dreadful  picture,  and  enough 
to  make  any  one  afraid  of  not  being  religious,  or  else  to 
make  one  feel  how  useless  it  is  for  any  one,  except  the 
monks  and  nuns,  to  try  to  be  religious  at  all.  Because 
however  little  merit  any  one  had  acquired,  some  kind 
monk  night  still  be  found  to  throw  a  rope  out  of  the  ship 
and  help  him  in  ;  and,  however  many  good  works  any  lay- 
man might  do,  they  would  be  of  no  avail  to  help  him  out 
of  the  flood,  or  even  to  keep  him  from  drowning,  unhisi 
he  had  some  friend  in  a  cloister. 


3  4  THE  SGHOlsl^ER  0-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  T. 

I  SiiiJ  Martin  was  merry;  and  so  he  is,  with  the  children, 
or  ^\  lien  he  is  cheered  with  music  or  pinging.  And  yet, 
on  the  -n  hole,_I  think  he  is  rather  grave,  and  often  he  looks 
very  thoughtlul,  ard  even  melancholy.  His  mciriment 
does  not  seem  to  be  so  much  from  carelessness  as  from 
parnestness  of  heart,  so  that  whether  he  is  telling  a  story 
to  the  little  ones,  or  singing  a  lively  song,  his  whole  heart 
is  in  it, — in  his  play  as  well  as  in  his  work. 

In  his  studies  Fritz  says  there  is  no  one  at  Eisenach  near 
him  whether  in  reciting,  or  writing  prose  or  verse,  or 
translating,  or  church  music. 

Master  Trebonius,  the  head  of  St.  George's  school,  is  a 
very  learned  man  and  very  polite.  He  takes  off  his  hat, 
t"  ritz  says,  and  bows  to  his  scholars  when  he  enters  the 
school,  for  he  says  that  '•  among  these  boys  are  burgomas- 
ters, chancellors,  doctors,  and  magistrates."  This  mtist 
be  very  diiferent  from  the  masters  at  Mansfeld.  Master 
Trebonius  thinks  very  much  of  Martin.  I  wonder  if  he 
and  Fritz  will  be  burgomasters  or  doctors  one  day. 

]\Iartin  is  certainly  veiy  religious  for  a  boy,  and  so  is 
Fritz.  They  attend  mass  very  regularly,  and  confession, 
and  keep  the  fasts. 

From  what  I  have  heard  Martin  say,  however,  I  think 
he  is  as  much  afraid  of  God  and  Christ  and  the  dreadful 
day  of  wrath  and  judgment  as  I  am.  Indeed  I  am  sure  he 
feels,  as  every  one  must,  there  would  be  no  hope  for  iis 
were  it  not  for  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God  who  may  remind 
her  Son  hoAV  she  nursed  and  cared  for  him  and  move  him 
to  have  some  pity. 

But  Martin  has  been  at  the  University  of  Erfurt  nearly 
two  years,  and  Frit?,  has  now  left  us  to  study  there  with 
him ,  and  we  shall  have  no  more  music,  and  the  children 
no  more  stories  until  no  one  knows  when. 

These  aro  the  people  1  kn:)w.     I  have  nothing  else  to 


ELSE'S  8T0RT.  55 

•ay  except  about  the  things  I  possess,  and  the  place  we 
live  in. 

The  things  ai-e  easily  describerl.  I  have  a  silver  reli« 
quary,  with  a  lock  of  the  hait  of  St.  Elizabeth  in  it.  That 
is  my  greatest  treasure.  I  have  a  black  rosary  with  a 
large  iron  cross  which  Annt  Agnes  gave  me.  I  have  a 
aaissal,  anc  part  of  a  volume  of  the  Nibehmgen  Lied ;  and 
besides  my  every-day  dress,  a  black  taffetas  jacket  and  a 
crimson  stuff  petticoat,  and  two  gold  ear-rings,  and  a  sil- 
ver chain  for  holidays,  which  Aunt  Ursula  gave  me.  Fritz 
and  I  between  us  have  also  a  copy  of  some  old  Latin 
hymns,  with  woodcuts,  printed  at  Niirnberg.  And  in  the 
garden  I  have  two  rose  bushes,  and  I  have  a  wooden  cru- 
cifix carved  in  Rome  out  of  wood  which  came  from  Beth- 
lehem, ttud  in  a  leather  purse  one  gulden  my  godmother 
gave  me  at  my  christening ;  and  that  is  all. 

The  place  we  live  in  is  Eisenach,  and  I  think  it  a  beauti- 
ful place.  But  never  having  seen  any  other  town,  perhaps 
I  cannot  very  well  judge.  There  are  nine  monasteries  and 
nunneries  here,  many  of  them  founded  by  St.  Elizabeth 
And  there  are  I  do  not  know  how  many  priests.  In  the 
churches  are  some  beautiful  pictures  of  the  sufferings  an(^ 
glory  of  the  saints ;  and  painted  windows,  and  on  the 
altars  gorgeous  gold  and  silver  plate,  and  a  great  many 
wondei'ful  relics  which  we  go  to  adorn  on  the  great  saint's 
days. 

The  town  is  in  a  valley,  and  high  above  the  houses  rises 
the  hill  on  which  stands  the  Wartburg,  the  castle  where 
St.  Elizabeth  I'ved.  I  went  inside  it  once  with  our  father 
to  take  some  books  to  the  Elector.  The  rooms  were  beau« 
tifully  furnished  with  carpets  and  velvet  covered  chairs. 
A  lady  dressed  in  silk  and  jewels,  like  St.  Elizabeth  in  the 
pictures,  ga^e  me  sweetmeats.  But  the  castle  seemed  jj 
me  dark  and  gloomy.  I  wondered  which  was  the  room  in 
which  the  proud  mother  of  the  Landgrave  lived  who  wai 


j,5  TEE  SKmONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

60  discourteous  to  St.  Elizabeth  when  she  came  a  young 
maiden  fioin  her  royal  home  far  away  in  Hungary ;  and 
which  was  the  cold  wall  against  which  sli«  pressed  hei 
bnriiiiig  brow,  when  she  rnshed  through  the  castle  in  des- 
pair on  hearing  suddenly  of  the  death  of  her  husband. 

I  was  glad  to  escape  into  the  free  forest  again,  for  all 
trotmd  the  castle,  and  over  all  the  hills,  as  far  as  we 
can  see  around  Eisenach,  it  is  forest.  The  tall  dark  pine 
woods  clothe  the  bills ;  but  in  the  valleys  the  meadows  are 
very  green  beside  the  streams.  It  is  better  in  the  valleys 
among  the  wild  flowers  than  in  that  stern  old  castle,  and  I 
did  not  wonder  so  much  after  being  there  that  St.  Eliza 
beth  built  herself  a  hut  in  a  lowly  valley  among  the  woods, 
and  preferred  to  live  and  die  there. 

It  is  beautiful  in  summer  in  the  meadows,  at  the  edge 
of  the  pine-woods,  when  the  sun  brings  out  the  delicious 
aromatic  perfume  of  the  pines,  and  the  birds  sing,  and  the 
rooks  caw.  I  like  it  better  than  the  incense  in  St.  George's 
Church,  and  almost  better  than  the  singing  of  the  choir, 
and  certainly  better  than  the  sermons  which  are  so  often 
about  the  dreadful  fires  and  the  judgment-day,  or  the  con- 
fessional where  they  give  us  such  hard  penances.  The 
lambs,  and  the  birds,  and  even  the  insects,  seem  so  happy 
each  with  its  own  little  bleat,  or  warble,  or  coo,  or  buzz 
of  content. 

It  almost  seems  then  as  if  Mary,  the  dear  Mother  of 
God,  were  governing  the  world  instead  of  Christ,  the 
Judge,  or  the  Almighty  with  the  thunders.  Every  crea- 
ture seems  so  blythe  and  so  tenderly  cared  for,  I  cannot 
help  feeling  better  there  than  at  church.  Bu*  that  is  be 
cause  I  have  so  little  religion. 


II. 


EXTRACTS   FROM    FRIEDRICH'S   CHRONICI B. 

Erfurt,  1503. 

r  last  I  stand  on  the  threshold  of  the  world  Z 
have  so  long  desired  to  enter.  Else's  Avorld  ia 
mine  no  longer ;  and  yet,  never  until  this  week 
!  did  I  feel  how  dear  that  little  home-world  is  to 
me.  Indeed,  heaven  forbid  I  should  have  left  it  finally. 
I  look  forward  to  return  to  it  again,  never  more,  however, 
as  a  burden  on  our  parents,  but  as  their  stay  and  support, 
tx)  set  our  mother  free  from  the  cares  which  are  slowly 
eating  her  precious  life  away,  to  set  our  father  free  to  pur- 
sue his  great  projects,  and  to  make  our  little  Else  as  much 
a  lady  as  any  of  the  noble  baronesses  our  grandmother 
tells  us  of  Although,  indeed,  as  it  is,  when  she  walks  be- 
side me  to  church  on  holidays,  in  her  crimson  dress,  with 
ner  roimd,  neat,  little  figure  in  the  black  jacket  with  the 
white  stomacher,  and  the  silver  chains,  her  fair  hair  so 
neatly  braided,  and  her  blue  eyes  so  full  of  sunshine, — who 
can  look  better  than  Else  ?  And  I  can  see  I  am  not  the 
only  one  in  Eisenach  Avho  thinks  so  I  would  only  wish 
to  make  all  the  days  holidays  for  her.  and  that  it  should 
not  be  necessary  when  the  festival  is  over  for  my  little  sin- 
ter to  lay  aside  all  her  finery  so  carefully  in  the  great 
chest,  and  put  on  her  Aschp'Htel  garments  again,  so  tha^ 

(3V) 


58  TEE  SGHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY 

if  tt.e  fairy  prince  "vve  used  to  talk  of  Avere  to  come,  h« 
would  scarcely  recognise  the  fair  little  princess  he  had  seen 
at  church.  And  yet  no  fairy  prince  need  be  ashamed  of 
our  Else,  even  in  her  working,  everyday  clothes ; — he  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  the  right  one  if  he  were.  In  the  tAvi« 
light,  when  the  day's  work  is  done,  and  the  children  are 
asleep,  and  she  comes  and  sits  beside  me  with  her  knitting 
in  the  lumber-room  or  under  the  pear-tree  in  the  garden, 
what  princess  could  look  fresher  or  neater  than  Else,  with 
her  smooth  fair  hair  braided  like  a  coronet  ?  Who  would 
think  that  she  had  been  toiling  all  day,  cooking,  washing, 
nursing  the  children.  Except,  indeed,  because  of  the 
healthy  color  her  active  life  gives  her  fice,  and  for  that 
sweet  low  voice  of  hers,  which  I  think  women  learn  best 
by  the  cradles  of  little  children. 

I  Kuppose  it  is  because  I  have  never  yet  seen  any  maiden 
tob?  compared  to  our  Else  that  I  have  not  yet  fallen  in  love. 
And,  nevertheless,  it  is  not  of  such  a  face,  as  Else's  I  dream, 
when  dreams  come,  or  even  exactly  such  as  my  mother's. 
My  mother's  eyes  are  dimmed  with  many  cares ;  is  it  not 
that  very  worn  and  faded  brow  that  makes  her  sacred  to 
me  ?  More  sacred  than  any  saintly  halo  !  And  Else,  good, 
practi  al  little  Else,  she  is  a  dear  household  fairy ;  but  the 
face  I  dream  of  has  another  look  in  it.  Else's  eyes  are 
good,  as  she  says,  for  seeing  and  helping ;  and  sweet,  in- 
deed, ',hey  are  for  loving — dear,  kind,  true  eyes.  But  the 
eyes  I  dream  of  have  another  look,  a  fire  like  our  grand- 
mot*j<?r's,  as  if  from  a  southern  sun;  dim,  dreamy,  far-see- 
ing glances,  burning  into  hearts,  like  the  ladies  in  the 
romances,  and  yet  piercing  into  heaven,  like  St.  Cecilia's 
when  she  stands  entranced  by  her  organ.  She  should  be 
saint,  at  whose  feet  I  might  sit  and  look  through  her 
pure  heart  into  heaven,  and  yet  she  should  love  me  wholly, 
passionately,  fearlessly,  devotedly,  as  if  her  heaven  were 
dl'  in  my  love.     My  love!    and  who  am  I  that  I  should 


a 


FRIEDRICWS  CHROmCLS. 


39 


hive  sucL  dreams?  A  poor  burgher  lad  of  Eisenach,  a 
penniless  student  of  a  week's  standing  at  Erfurt !  Tho 
eldest  son  of  a  large  destitute  family,  w  ho  must  not  dars 
to  think  of  loving  the  most  perfect  maiden  in  the  world, 
when  I  meet  her,  until  I  have  rescued  a  father,  mother, 
and  six  brothers  and  sisters  from  the  jaws  of  biting  poverty. 
And  even  in  a  dream  it  seems  almost  a  treachery  to  put 
any  poor  creature  above  Else.  I  fancy  I  see  her  kind  bhie 
eyea  filling  with  reproachful  tears.  For  there  is  no  doubt 
that  in  Else's  heart  I  have  no  rival,  even  iji  a  dream  Poor, 
loving^  little  Else ! 

Yes,  she  must  be  rescued  from  the  j.ressure  of  those 
daily  fretting  cares  of  penury  and  hope  deferred,  vvdiich 
have  made  our  mother  old  so  early.  If  I  had  been  in  the 
father's  place,  I  could  never  have  borjje  to  see  winter 
creeping  so  soon  over  the  summer  of  her  life.  But  he  does 
not  see  it.  Or  if  for  a  moment  her  pale  face  and  the  grey 
hairs  which  begin  to  come  seem  to  troul  le  him,  he  kisses 
her  forehead,  and  says, 

"  But,  mother,  it  will  soon  be  over ;  there  is  nothing 
wanting  now  but  the  last  link  to  make  this  last  invention 
perfect,  and  then — " 

And  then  he  goes  into  Ins  printing-room ;  but  to  this 
day  the  missing  link  has  never  been  found.  Else  and  oui 
mother,  however,  always  believe  it  will  turn  up  som« 
day.  Our  grandmother  has  doubts.  And  I  have  scarcely 
any  hope  at  all,  although,  for  all  the  world,  I  Avould  nol 
fcreathe  this  to  any  one  at  home.  To  me  that  labf  ratory  of 
my  father's,  with  its  furnace,  its  models,  its  strange 
machines,  is  the  most  melancholy  place  in  the  world.  It 
is  like  a  haunted  chamber, — haunted  with  the  helpless 
nameless  ghosts  of  infants  that  have  died  at  their  birth, — 
the  ghosts  of  vain  and  fruitless  projects ;  like  the  ruins  of 
a  city  that  some  earthquake  had  destroyed  before  it  was 
ftniehed,  ruined  palaces  that  were  never  roofed,  i  nnod 


♦« 


THE  SGUONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


liouses  that  were  never  inhabited,  ruined  churches  that 
were  never  worshipped  in.  The  saints  forbid  that  my  life 
should  be  like  that !  and  yet  what  it  is  which  has  made 
him  so  unsuccessful,  I  can  never  exactly  make  out.  He  is 
no  dreanier.  He  is  no  idler.  He  does  not  sit  lazily  down 
with  folded  arms  and  imagine  his  projects.  He  makes  his 
calculations  Avith  the  most  laborious  accuracy;  he  con- 
sults all  the  learned  men  and  books  he  has  access  to.  He 
weighs,  and  measures,  and  constructs  the  neatest  models 
possible.  His  room  is  a  museum  of  exquisite  models, 
which  seem  as  if  they  must  answer,  and  yet  never  do.  The 
professors,  and  even  the  Elector's  secretary,  who  has  come 
more  than  once  to  consult  him,  have  told  me  he  is  a  man 
of  remarkable  genius. 

What  can  it  be,  then,  that  makes  his  life  such  a  failure  ? 
I  cannot  think  ;  unless  it  is  that  other  great  inventors  and 
discoverers  seem  to  have  made  their  discoveries  and  inven- 
tions as  it  were  by  the  way.  in  the  course  of  their  everyday 
life.  As  a  seaman  sails  on  his  appointed  voyage  to  some 
definite  port,  he  notices  drift-wood  or  Aveeds  which  must 
have  come  from  unknown  lands  beyond  the  seas.  As  he 
sails  in  his  calling  from  port  to  port,  the  thought  is  al- 
ways in  his  mind  ;  everything  he  hears  groups  itself  natur- 
ally around  this  thought ;  he  observes  the  Avinds  and 
currents  ;  he  collects  information  from  mariners  who  have 
been  driven  out  of  their  course,  in  the  direction  where  he 
bclieA'es  this  imknoAv^n  land  to  lie.  And  at  length  he  per- 
suades some  prince  that  his  belief  is  no  mere  dream,  and 
Like  the  great  admiral  Christopher  Columbus,  he  ventures 
across  the  trackless  unknown  Atlantic  and  discc  vers  the 
Western  Indies.  But  before  he  was  a  discoverer,  he  Avaa 
a  mariner. 

Or  some  engraver  of  woodcuts  thinks  of  applying  his 
carved  blocks  to  letters,  and  the  printing-press  is  invented. 
But  it  is  in  his  calling.     He  has  not  gone  out  of  his  Avay  to 


VBIEDRIGH'S  CHRONICLE.  4, 

hunt  for  inventions.  He  has  found  them  \n  his  path,  the 
path  of  his  daily  calling.  It  seems  to  me  people  do  not 
become  great,  do  not  become  discoverers  and  inventors  by 
trying  to  be  so,  but  by  determining  to  do  in  the  very  best 
way  what  th«y  have  to  do.  Thus  improvements  suggest 
themselves,  one  by  one,  step  by  step ;  each  improvement 
ib  tested  as  it  is  made  by  practical  iise,  until  at  length  the 
happy  thought  comes,  not  like  an  elf  from  the  wild  forests, 
bat  like  an  angel  on  the  daily  path  ;  and  the  little  improve- 
ments become  the  great  Invention.  There  is  another  great 
advantage,  moreover,  in  this  method  over  our  father's.  If 
the  invention  never  comes,  at  all  events  we  have  the  im- 
provements, which  are  worth  something.  Every  one  can 
not  invent  the  printing-press  or  discovei  the  New  Indie? ; 
but  every  engraver  may  make  his  engravi ugs  a  little  better, 
and  every  mariner  may  explore  a  little  further  than  his 
predecessors. 

Yet  it  seems  almost  like  treason  to  write  thus  of  our 
father.  "What  would  Else  or  our  mother  think,  who  be- 
lieve there  is  nothing  but  accident  or  the  blmdness  of  man- 
kind  between  us  and  greatness?  Not  that  they  have 
learned  to  think  thus  from  our  father.  Never  in  my  life 
did  I  hear  him  say  a  grudging  or  depreciating  word  of 
any  of  those  who  have  most  succeeded  wJiere  he  has  failed. 
He  seems  to  look  on  all  such  men  as  part  of  a  great 
brotherhood,  and  to  rejoice  in  another  man  hitting  the 
point  which  he  missed,  just  as  he  would  rejoice  in  himself 
succeeding  in  something  today  which  he  failed  in  yester 
day;  It  is  this  nobleness  of  character  which  makes  me 
reverence  him  more  than  any  mere  successes  wuld.  It  ia 
because  I  fear,  that  in  a  life  of  such  disappointment  my 
character  would  not  prove  so  generous,  but  that  failure 
would  sour  my  temper  and  penury  degrade  ray  spirit  as 
they  never  have  his,  that  I  have  ventured  to  search  for  the 
••ocks  on  which  he  made  shipwreck,  iu   order  to   avoiJ 


42  THE  SCRONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

them.  All  men  cannot  return  wrecked,  and  tattered,  and 
destitute  from  an  unsuccessful  voyage,  with  a  lieait  as 
hopeful,  a  temper  as  generous,  a  spirit  as  free  from  envy 
^nd  detraction,  as  if  they  brought  the  golden  fleece  with 
tliem.  Our  father  does  this  again  and  again ;  and  there« 
fore  1  trust  his  argosies  are  laid  up  for  him  as  for  those 
who  follow  the  rules  of  evangelical  perfection,  where 
neither  moth  nor  rust  can  corrupt.  I  could  not.  I  would 
never  return  until  I  could  bring  what  I  had  sought,  or  1 
should  return  a  miserable  man,  shipwrecked  in  heart  as 
well  as  in  fortune.  And  therefore  I  must  examine  my 
charts,  and  choose  my  port  and  my  vessel  carefully,  before 
I  sail. 

All  these  thoughts  came  into  my  mind  as  I  stood  on  the 
last  height  of  the  forest,  from  which  I  could  look  back  on 
JCisenach,  nestling  in  the  valley  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Wartburg.  May  the  dear  Mother  of  God,  St.  Elizabeth, 
and  all  the  saints,  defend  it  evermore ! 

But  there  was  not  much  time  to  linger  for  a  last  view  of 
Eisenach.  The  winter  days  were  short ;  some  snow  had 
fallen  in  the  previous  night.  The  roofs  of  the  houses  in 
Eisenach  were  white  with  it,  and  the  carving  of  spire  and 
tower  seemed  inlaid  with  alabaster.  A  thin  covering  lay 
on  the  meadows  and  hill-sjdes,  and  light  feather-work 
frosted  the  pines.  I  had  nearly  thirty  miles  to  walk 
through  forest  and  plain  before  J  reached  Erfurt.  The  day 
was  at  bright  and  the  air  af5  light  as  my  heart.  The 
shadows  of  the  pines  lay  across  the  frozen  snow,  over 
which  my  feet  crunched  cheerily.  In  the  clearings,  the 
outline  of  the  black  twigs  were  pencilled  dark  and  clear 
against  the  light  blue  of  the  winter  sky.  Every  outline 
was  clear,  and  crisp,  luid  definite,  as  I  resolved  my  own 
aims  in  life  should  be.  I  knew  my  purposes  were  pure 
►•-od  liigh,  and  I  felt  as  if  Heaven  must  prosper  me. 

But  af  the  day  wore  on,  I  began  to  wonder  when  the 


FRIEDRICWa  CHBOmCLB.  4a 

Ktrest  would  end,  until,  as  the  sun  sank  lower  and  lower,  I 
(eared  I  must  have  missed  my  way;  and  at  last,  as  I 
climued  a  height  to  make  a  survey,  to  my  dismay  it  was 
too  evident  I  had  taken  the  wrong  turning  in  the  snow. 
Wide  reaches  of  the  forest  lay  all  around  me,  one  pine 
covered  hill  folding  over  another ;  and  only  in  one  distant 
opening  could  I  get  a  glimpse  of  the  level  land  beyond, 
where  I  knevv  Erfurt  must  lie.  The  daylight  was  fast  de- 
parting ;  my  wallet  was  empty.  I  knew  there  were  vil 
lages  hidden  in  the  valleys  here  and  there;  but  not  a 
wreath  of  smoke  could  I  see,  nor  any  sign  of  man,  except 
here  and  there  faggots  piled  in  some  recent  clearing. 
Towards  one  of  these  clearings  I  directed  my  steps,  in- 
tending to  follow  the  wood-cutter's  track,  which  I  thought 
would  probably  lead  me  to  the  hut  of  some  charcoal 
burner,  where  I  might  find  fire  and  shelter.  Before  I 
reached  this  spot,  however,  night  had  set  in.  The  snow 
began  to  fall  again,  and  it  seemed  too  great  a  risk  to  leave 
the  broader  path  to  follow  any  unknown  track.  I  resolved, 
therefore,  to  make  the  best  of  my  circumstances.  They 
wore  not  unendurable.  I  had  a  flint  and  tinder,  and  gath' 
ering  some  dry  wood  and  twigs,  I  contrived  with  some 
difficulty  to  light  a  fire.  Cold  and  hungry  I  certainly  was, 
but  for  this  I  cared  little.  It  was  only  an  extra  fast,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  quite  natural  that  my  journey  of  life 
ehould  commence  with  difficulty  and  danger.  It  was  always 
Bo  in  legend  of  the  saints,  romance,  or  elfin  tale,  or  when 
anything  great  was  to  be  done. 

But  in  the  night,  as  the  wind  howled  througli  the  count- 
lees  stems  of  the  pines,  not  with  the  soft  varieties  of  sound 
it  makes  amidst  the  summer  oak-woods,  but  Tvith  a  long, 
monotone  is  wail  like  a  dirge,  a  tumult  awoke  in  my  heart 
Buch  as  1  had  never  known  before.  I  knew  these  forests 
were  infested  oy  rol)l)er-b.vids,  and  I  could  hear  in  the  dis* 
tr.nco  the  baying  and  howling  oi"  the  wolves     but  it  waa 


44 


THE  8Cni)NBEnO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


not  f(,ar  which  tossed  my  thoughts  so  wildly  to  and  fro,  a*. 
least  not  fear  of  bodily  harm.  I  thought  of  all  tlie  stories 
of  Avild  huntsmen,  of  wretched  guilty  men,  hunled  by 
packs  of  fiends;  and  the  stories  which  had  excited  a  wild 
delight  in  Else  and  me,  as  our  grandmother  told  them  by 
the  fire  at  home,  now  seemed  to  freeze  my  soul  with  hor- 
ror. For  was  not  I  a  guilty  creature,  and  were  not  th» 
devils  indeed  too  really  around  me  ? — and  what  was  to 
prevent  their  possessing  me?  Who  in  all  the  universe 
was  on  my  side  ?  Could  I  look  up  with  confidence  to 
i^rod  ?  He  loves  only  the  holy.  Or  to  Christ  ?  He  is  th« 
Judge ;  and  more  terrible  than  any  cries  of  legions  of 
devils  will  it  be  to  the  sinner  to  hear  his  voice  from  the 
awful  snow-white  throne  of  judgment.  Then  my  sins  rose 
before  me — my  neglected  prayers,  penances  imperfectly  per- 
formed, incomplete  confessions.  Even  that  morning,  had 
I  not  been  full  of  proud  and  ambitious  thoughts — even, 
perhaps,  vainly  comparing  myself  with  my  good  father, 
and  picturing  myself  as  conquering  and  enjoying  all  kinds 
of  worldly  delights  ?  It  was  true,  it  could  hardly  be  a  sin 
to  wish  to  save  my  family  from  penury  and  care ;  but  it 
was  certainly  a  sin  to  be  ambitious  of  worldly  distinction, 
as  Father  Christopher  had  so  often  told  me.  Then,  how 
difficult  to  separate  the  two !  Where  did  duty  end,  and 
amV)ition  and  pride  begin  ?  I  determmed  to  find  a  co/ifes- 
8or  as  soon  as  I  reached  Erfurt,  if  ever*I  reached  it.  -And 
yet,  what  could  even  the  wisest  confessor  do  for  aie  in 
such  difficulties  ?  How  could  I  ever  be  sure  that  I  had 
lot  deceived  myself  in  examining  my  motives,  and  then 
deceived  him,  and  thus  obtained  an  absolution  on  false 
pretences,  which  could  avail  me  nothing?  And  if  this 
might  be  so  with  future  confessions,  why  not  w  "^h  all  past 
■>ne8? 

The  thought  was  horror  to  me,  and  seemed  to  opei.  a 
fathomless  abyss  of  misery  yawning  under  my  feet.     I 


rmEDRIGWS  CHBOmCLE.  4- 

could  no  more  discover  a  track  out  of  ray  miserable  per» 
plexitiefl  than  out  of  the  forest. 

For  if  these  apprehensions  had  any  ground,  not  oniy  th.? 
siLiS  1  had  failed  to  confess  were  unpardoned,  but  the  sin-. 
I  had  confessd  and  obtained  absolution  for  on  false 
grounds.  Thus  it  might  be  at  that  moment  my  soul  stoou 
atterly  unsheltorod,  as  my  body  from  the  snows,  expotsed 
to  the  wi'Cith  of  God,  the  judgment  of  Christ,  and  the  ex- 
ulting cruelty  of  devils. 

It  seemod  as  if  only  one  thing  could  save  me,  and  that 
could  never  be  had.  If  I  could  find  an  infallible  confessor 
who  could  see  down  into  the  depths  of  my  heart,  and  back 
into  every  recess  of  my  life,  who  could  unveil  me  to  my- 
self, penetrate  all  my  motives,  and  assign  me  the  penances 
I  really  defierved,  I  would  travel  to  the  end  of  the  world 
to  find  hi'ji..  The  severest  penances  he  could  assign,  after 
searching  the  lives  of  all  the  holy  Eremites  and  Martyrs, 
for  examples  of  mortification,  it  seemed  to  me  would  be 
light  indeed,  if  I  could  only  be  sure  they  were  the  right 
penances,  and  would  be  followed  by  a  true  absolution. 

But  this  it  was,  indeed,  impossible  I  could  ever  find. 

"What  sure  hope  then  could  I  ever  have  of  pardon  or  re- 
mission of  sins  ?  What  voice  of  priest  or  monk,  the  holiest 
on  earth,  could  ever  assure  me  I  had  been  honest  with  my- 
gelf  ?  What  absolution  could  ever  give  me  a  right  to  be- 
lieve that  the  baptismal  robes,  soiled,  as  they  told  me, 
"  before  I  had  left  ofl["  my  infant  socks,"  could  once  more 
be  made  white  and  clean  ? 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  the  thought  flashed  on 
me,  of  the  n^onastic  vows,  the  cloister  and  the  covyJ.  1 
knew  there  was  a  virtue  in  the  monastic  profession  wlivcb 
many  said  was  equal  to  a  second  baptism.  Could  it  bo 
possible  that  the  end  of  all  my  aspirations  might  after  al« 
be  the  monk's  frock  ?  What  then  would  become  of  father 
and  mother,  dear  Else,  and  the  little  ones  ?     The  thought 


4,t  TEE  8CHCKBERO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

of  their  dear  faces  seemed  for  an  instant  to  drive  away 
these  gloomy  fears,  as  they  say  a  hearth-fire  keeps  cff  the 
wolves.  But  then  a  hollow  voice  seemed  to  whisper,  "  If 
God  is  against  you,  and  the  saints,  and  your  conscience, 
what  help  can  you  render  your  family  or  any  one  else  ?  '* 
The  conflict  seemed  more  than  I  could  bear.  It  was  so 
impossible  to  me  to  make  out  which  suggestions  wore 
froin  the  devil  and  which  from  God,  and  which  from 
my  own  sinful  heart;  and  yet  it  might  be  the  unpar- 
donable sin  to  confound  them.  Wherefore  for  the  rest 
of  the  night  I  tried  not  to  think  at  all,  but  paced  up  and 
down  reciting  the  Ten  Commandments,  the  Creed,  the 
Paternoster,  the  Ave  Maria,  the  Litanies  of  the  Saints,  and 
all  the  collects  and  holy  ejaculations  I  could  think  of.  By 
degrees  this  seemed  to  calm  me,  especially  the  Creeds  and 
the  Paternoster,  Avhether  because  these  are  spells  the 
fiends  especially  dread,  or  because  there  is  something  so 
comforting  in  the  mere  vv^ords,  "Our  father,"  and  "the 
remissions  of  sins,"  I  do  not  know.  Probably  for  both 
reasons. 

And  so  the  morning  dawned,  and  the  low  sunbeams 
slanted  up  through  the  red  stems  of  the  pines ;  and  I  said 
the  Ave  Maria,  and  thought  of  the  sweet  Mother  of  God, 
and  was  a  little  cheered. 

But  all  the  next  day  I  could  not  recover  from  the  terrors 
of  that  solitary  night.  A  shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen 
on  my  hopes  and  projects.  How  could  I  tell  that  alj 
which  had  seemed  most  holy  to  me  as  an  object  in  life 
might  not  be  temptations  of  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil ;  and  that  with  all  my  labouring  for  my  dear  ones  at 
home,  my  sins  might  not  bring  on  them  more  troubles  than 
all  ray  successes  could  avert  ? 

As  I  left  the  shadow  of  the  forest,  however,  my  heart 
eeemod  to  grow  lighter.  I  shall  always  henceforth  feej 
Bure  that  tjie  wildest  legends  of  the  forest  may  be  true^ 


FR1EDRICW8  CEEONICLE.  47 

Slid  that  vhe  fionds  have  especial  haunts  among  the  solitary 
woods  at  night. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  tho  towers  of  Erfurt  rising  befoio 
aie  on  the  plain. 

I  had  only  one  friend  at  the  University ;  but  that  is 
Martin  Luther,  and  he  is  a  host  in  himself  to  me.  He  is 
already  distinguished  among  the  students  here ;  and  tlie 
professors  expect  great  things  of  him. 

He  is  especially  studying  jurisprudence,  because  liis 
father  wishes  him  to  be  a  great  lawyer.  This  also  is  to  be 
my  profession,  and  his  counsel,  always  so  heartily  given, 
is  of  the  greatest  use  to  me. 

His  life  is,  indeed,  changed  since  we  first  knew  him  at 
Eisenach,  when  Aunt  Ursula  took  compassion  on  him,  a 
destitute  scholar,  singing  at  the  doors  of  the  houses  in  St. 
George  Street  for  a  piece  of  bread.  His  father's  hard 
Btruo-gles  to  maintain  and  raise  his  family  have  succeeded 
at  last ;  he  is  now  the  owner  of  a  foundry  and  some  smelt- 
ing furnaces,  and  supports  Martin  liberally  at  the  Univer- 
sity. The  icy  morning  of  Martin's  struggles  seems  over, 
and  all  is  bright  before  him. 

Erfurt  is  the  first  University  in  Germany.  Compared 
with  it,  as  Martin  Luther  says,  the  other  Universities  aie 
mere  private  academies.  At  present  we  have  from  a  thou- 
sand to  thirteen  hundred  students.  Some  of  our  profe* 
Bors  have  studied  the  classics  in  Italy,  under  the  descend- 
ants of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans.  The  Elector 
Frederic  has,  indeed,  lately  founded  a  new  University  at 
Wittemberg.  but  we  at  Erfurt  have  little  fear  of  Wittcm- 
berg  outstripning  our  ancient  institution. 

The  Humanists,  or  disciples  of  the  ancient  heatlien 
learning,  are  in  great  force  here,  with  Mutiaiius  Rufus  at 
their  head.  They  meet  often,  especially  at  his  house,  and 
he  gives  them  subjects  for  Latin  versification,  such  as  the 
praises  of  poverty.    Martia  Lutlier's  friend  Spalatin  joine<] 


48  THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

these  assemblies ;  but  he  himself  does  not,  at  least  not  ai 
a  mejnber.  Indeed,  strange  things  are  reported  of  then 
converse,  "which  make  the  names  of  poet  and  philosopher 
in  which  they  delight  very  much  suspected  in  orthodox 
circles.  These  ideas  Mutianus  and  his  friends  are  said  to 
have  imported  with  the  classical  literature  from  Italy.  H© 
has  even  declared  and  written  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  that 
"  there  is.  but  one  God,  and  one  goddess,  although  under 
various  forms  and  various  names,  as  Jupiter,  Sol,  Apollo, 
Moses,  Christ;  Luna,  Ceres,  Proserpine,  Tellus,  Mary." 
But  these  things  he  warns  his  disciples  not  to  speak  of  in 
public.  "  They  must  be  veiled  in  silence,"  he  says.  "  like 
the  Eleusinian  mysteries.  In  the  affairs  of  religion  we 
must  make  use  of  the  mask  of  fables  and  enigmas.  Let 
us  by  the  grace  of  Jupiter,  that  is,  of  the  best  and  highest 
God,  despise  the  lesser  gods.  When  I  say  Jupiter,  I  mean 
Christ  and  the  true  God." 

Mutianus  and  his  friends  also  in  their  intimate  circles 
speak  most  slightingly  of  the  Church  ceremonies,  calling 
the  Mass  a  comedy,  and  the  holy  relics  ravens'  bones ;  * 
speaking  of  the  service  of  the  altar  as  so  much  lost  time ; 
and  stigmatizing  the  prayers  at  the  canonical  hours  as  a 
mere  baying  of  hounds,  or  the  humming,  not  of  busy  beeB» 
but  of  lazy  drones. 

If  you  reproached  them  with  such  irreverent  sayings, 
they  would  probably  reply  that  they  had  only  uttered 
thy^m  in  an  esoteric  sense,  and  meant  nothing  by  them. 
But  when  people  deem  it  right  thus  to  mask  their  truths, 
and  explain  away  their  errors,  it  is  difficult  to  distingui&h 
which  is  the  mask  and  Avhich  the  reality  in  their  estima- 
tion. It  seems  to  me  also  that  they  make  mere  intellectual 
games  or  exercises  out  of  the  m  ost  profound  and  awful 
questicns. 

This  probably,  more  than  the  daring  character  of  theii 

•  Th»t  is,  skeletons  left  on  Iho  gallows  for  the  raven*  to  p«ck  tX. 


JlRIEDRICWa  CHRONICLE. 


49 


Bpoculations,  deters  Martin  Luther  from  numbering  bim. 
Belf  among  them.  His  nature  is  so  reverent  in  spite  of  all 
the  courage  of  his  cliaracter.  I  think  he  would  dare  or 
suffer  anything  for  what  he  believed  true ;  but  he  cannot 
bear  to  have  the  poorest  fragment  of  what  he  holds  sacred 
trilled  with  or  played  with  as  a  mere  feat  of  intellectual 
gymnastics 

His  chief  attention  is  at  present  directed,  by  his  father's 
especial  desire,  to  Roman  literature  and  law,  and  to  the 
study  of  the  allegories  and  philosophy  of  Aristotle,  He 
likes  to  have  to  do  with  what  is  true  and  solid:  poetry  and 
music  are  his  delight  and  recreation.  But  it  is  in  debate 
he  most  excels.  A  few  evenings  since,  he  introduced  me 
to  a  society  of  students,  where  questions  new  and  old  are 
debated  ;  and  it  was  glorious  to  see  how  our  Maiiiin  car- 
ried off  the  palm ;  sometimes  swooping  down  on  his  op- 
ponents like  an  eagle  among  a  flock  of  small  birds,  or  set- 
ting down  his  great  lion's  paw  and  quietly  crushing  a  host 
of  objections  ap})arently  unaware  of  the  mischief  he  had 
done,  until  some  feeble  wail  of  the  prostrate  foe  made  him 
sensible  of  it,  and  he  withdrew  with  a  good-humoured 
apology  for  having  hurt  any  one's  feelings.  At  other  times 
he  withers  an  unfair  argument  or  a  confused  statement  to 
a  cinder  by  some  lightning-flash  of  humour  or  satire.  I  do 
not  think  he  is  often  perplexed  by  seeing  too  much  of  the 
other  side  of  a  disputed  question.  He  holds  the  one  truth 
he  is  contending  for,  and  he  sees  the  one  point  he  is  aiming 
at,  and  at  that  he  charges  with  a  force  compounded  of  the 
ponderous  weight  of  his  will,  and  the  electric  velocity  of 
his  thoughts,  crushing  whatever  comes  in  his  way,  scatter- 
ing Avhatever  escapes  right  and  left,  and  never  heeding 
how  the  scattei'ed  forces  may  reunite  and  form  in  his  rear. 
He  knows  that  if  he  only  turns  on  them,  in  a  moment  thej 
will  disperse  again. 

t  cannot  quite  tell  how  this  style  of  warfare  would  an 
;i 


JO  TEE  SCHONBETtG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

race.     His  grandfathei  had  a  little  farm  of  his  own  al 

Mora,  among  the  Thuringian  pine  forests;  but  Mariii."8 
father  was  the  second  son ;  their  little  property  went  to 
the  eldest,  and  he  became  a  miner,  went  to  Eislebea,  and 
then  settled  at  Mansfeld,  near  the  Ilartz  mountains,  vvher« 
the  silver  and  copper  lie  buried  in  the  earth. 

At  Mansfeld  Martin  Luther  lived  until  he  was  nineteo 
I  should  like  to  see  the  place.  It  must  be  so  strange  to 
watch  the  great  furnaces,  where  they  fuse  the  copper  and 
smelt  the  precious  silver,  gleaming  through  the  pine-woods, 
for  they  burn  all  through  the  night  in  the  clearings  of  the 
forest.  When  Martin  wcis  a  little  boy  he  may  have  watched 
by  them  with  his  father,  who  now  has  furnaces  and  a  foun- 
dry of  his  own.  Then  there  are  the  deep  pits  under  the 
hills,  out  of  which  come  from  time  to  time  troops  of  grim- 
looking  miners.  Martin  is  fond  of  the  miners ;  they  an 
such  a  brave  and  hearty  ^ace,  and  they  have  fine  bold  song* 
and  choruses  of  their  own  which  he  can  sing,  and  wiW 
original  pastimes.  Chess  is  a  favourite  game  with  them. 
They  are  thoughtful,  too,  as  men  may  well  be  who  di\'e 
into  the  secrets  of  the  earth.  Martin,  when  a  boy,  has 
often  gone  into  the  dark,  mysterious  pits  and  winding  cav- 
erns with  them,  and  seen  the  veins  of  precious  ore.  He 
has  also  often  seen  foreigners  of  various  nations.  They 
3ome  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  Mansfeld  for  silver, — ■ 
from  Bavaiid,  and  Switzerland,  and  even  from  the  beautiful 
S^enice,  which  is  a  city  of  palaces,  where  the  streets  are 
canals  filled  by  the  blue  sea,  and  instead  of  Avaggons  they 
use  boats,  from  which  people  land  on  the  marble  steps  of 
the  palaces.  All  these  things  Martin  has  heard  described 
by  those  who  have  really  seen  them,  besides  what  he  has 
seen  himself.  His  father  also  frequently  used  to  have  the 
schoolmasters  and  learned  men  at  his  house,  that  his  sons 
might  profit  by  their  wise  corversation.  But  I  doubt  i 
he  can  have  enjoyed  this  so  much.     It  must  have  beei> 


ELSE'S  STORY.  5 

difficult  to  forget  the  rod  with  which  once  he  was  beaten 
fourteen  times  in  one  morning,  so  as  to  feel  sufficiently  at 
ease  to  enjoy  their  conversation.  Old  Count  Gunther  of 
Mansfcid  thinks  ninch  of  Martin's  father,  and  often  used 
to  send  for  him  to  consult  him  about  the  mines. 

Their  house  at  Mansfekl  stood  at  some  distance  from  the 
lonool-house  which  was  on  the  hill,  so  that,  when  he  was 
little,  an  older  boy  used  to  be  kind  to  him,  and  cai-ry  him 
in  his  arms  to  school.  I  daresay  that  was  in  winter,  when 
his  little  feet  were  swollen  with  chilblains,  and  his  poor 
mother  used  to  go  up  to  the  woods  to  gather  faggots  for 
the  hearth. 

His  mother  must  be  a  very  good  and  holy  woman,  but 
not,  I  fancy,  quite  hke  our  mother  ;  rather  more  like  Aunt 
Agnes.  I  think  I  should  have  been  rather  afraid  of  her. 
Martin  says  she  is  very  religious.  lie  honours  and  loves 
her  very  much,  although  she  Avas  very  strict  with  him,  and 
once,  he  told  Fritz,  beat  him,  for  taking  a  nut  from  their 
stores,  until  the  blood  came.  She  must  be  a  brave,  truth 
ful  woman,  who  would  not  spare  herself  or  others ;  but  1 
think  I  should  have  felt  more  at  home  with  his  father,  who 
used  so  often  to  kneel  beside  Martin's  bed  at  night,  and 
pray  God  to  make  him  a  good  and  useful  man.  Martin's 
father,  however,  does  not  seem  so  fond  of  the  monks  and 
nuns,  and  is  therefore,  I  suppose,  not  so  religious  as  his 
mother  is.  He  does  not  at  all  wish  Martin  to  become  a 
priest  or  a  monk,  but  to  be  a  great  lawyer,  (jf  doctor,  or 
professor  at  some  university. 

Mansfeld,  Jiowever,  is  a  very  holy  place.  There  are 
many  monasteries  and  nunneries  there,  and  in  one  of  them 
two  of  the  countesses  were  nuns.  There  is  also  a  castle 
there,  and  our  St.  Elizabeth  worked  miracles  there  as  weli 
as  here.  The  devil  afso  is  not  idle  at  Mansfeld.  A  wicked 
old  witch  lived  close  to  Martin's  house,  and  used  to  frighten 
and  distress  his  mother  much,  bewitching  the  children  so 


5a  rnS  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

is  the  judge  of  all,  where  indeed  can  we  so  safely  flee  foi 
refuge  as  to  Mary  ?  It  was  edifpng  to  see  Martin's  dero 
tion  to  her,  and  no  doubt  it  Avas  greatly  owing  to  this  that 
at  length  the  remedies  succeeded,  the  bandages  closed  the 
wound  again,  and  the  blood  was  stanched. 

Many  an  Ave  will  I  say  for  this  to  the  sweet  Mother  of 
Mercy.  Perchance  she  may  also  have  pity  on  me.  O 
sweetest  Lady,  "  eternal  daughter  of  the  eternal  Father, 
heart  of  the  indivisible  Trinity,"  thou  seest  my  desire  to 
help  my  own  care-worn  mother;  aid  me,  and  have  mercy 
on  me,  thy  sinful  child. 

Erftoit,  June,  1503. 
.\RTIN  LUTHER  has  taken  his  first  degree.  He 
is  a  fervent  student,  earnest  in  this  as  in  everything. 
Cicero  and  Virgil  are  his  great  companions  among  the 
Latins.  He  is  now  raised  quite  above  the  pressing  cares 
of  penury,  and  will  probably  never  taste  them  more.  His 
father  is  now  a  prosperous  burgher  of  Mansfeld,  and  on 
the  Avay  to  become  burgomaster.  I  wish  the  prospects  at 
my  home  were  as  cheermg.  A  few  years  less  of  pinching 
poverty  for  myself  seems  to  matter  little,  but  the  cares  of 
our  mother  and  Else  weigh  on  me  often  heavily.  It  must 
be  long  yet  before  I  can  help  them  eifectually,  and  mean- 
time the  bright  youth  of  my  little  Else,  and  the  very  life 
of  our  toil-worn  patient  mother  will  be  wearing  away. 

For  myself  I  can  fully  enter  into  what  Martin  says, 
"  The  young  should  learn  especially  to  endurcj  suffering  and 
want'  for  sucl  suffering  doth  them  no  harm.  It  doth 
more  harm  for  one  to  prosper  without  toil  than  it  doth  to 
endure  suffering."  He  says  also,  "  It  is  God's  way,  of 
beggars  to  make  men  of  power,  just  as  he  made  the  world 
out  of  nothing.  Look  upon  the  courts  of  kings  and  princes, 
upon  cities  and  parishes.  You  will  there  find  jurists,  doc« 
tors,  councillors,  secretaries,  and  preachers  who  were  oom* 


FRiEDRicn's  cnnomoLB.  ^3 

monly  poor,  and  ahvays  sncli  as  have  been  students,  and 
Lave  risen  and  flown  so  high  through  the  quill  that  thev 
are  become  lords." 

But  the  way  to  wealth  through  the  quill  seems  long; 
and  lives  so  precious  to  me  are  being  worn  out  meantime, 
while  I  climb  to  the  point  where  I  could  help  them ! 
Sometimes  I  wish  I  had  chosen  the  calling  of  a  merchant, 
men  seem  to  prosper  so  much  more  rapidly  through  trade 
than  through  study ;  and  nothing  on  earth  seems  to  me  so 
well  worth  working  for  as  to  lift  the  load  from  their  hearts 
at  home.  But  it  is  too  late.  Rolling  stones  gather  no 
moss.  I  must  go  on  now  in  the  track  I  have  chosen. 
Only  sometimes  again  the  fear  which  came  over  me  on  that 
night  in  the  forest.  It  seems  as  if  heaven  were  against 
me,  and  that  it  is  Aain  presumption  for  such  as  I  even  to 
hope  to  benefit  any  one. 

Partly,  no  doubt,  it  is  to  the  depression,  caused  by  poor 
li^'ing,  which  brings  these  thoughts.  Martin  Luther  said 
BO  to  me  one  day  when  he  found  me  desponding.  He  said 
he  knew  so  well  what  it  was.  He  had  suffered  so  much 
from  penury  at  Magdeburg,  and  at  Eisenach  had  even  seri- 
ously thought  of  giving  up  study  altogether  and  returning 
to  his  father's  calling.  He  is  kind  to  me  and  to  all  who 
need,  but  his  means  do  not  yet  allow  him  to  do  more  than 
maintain  himself.  Or  rather,  they  are  not  his  but  his 
father's,  and  he  feels  he  has  no  right  to  be  generous  at  the 
expense  of  his  father's  self-denial  and  toil. 

I  find  hfe  look>  different,  I  must  say,  after  a  good  meal. 
But  then  I  cannot  get  rid  of  the  thought  of  tlie  few  such 
meals  they  have  at  home.  Not  that  Else  writes  gloomily. 
Bhe  never  mentions  a  thing  to  sadden  me.  And  this  week 
6lie  sent  me  a  gulden,  which  she  said  belonged  to  her  alone, 
and  she  liad  vowed  never  to  use  unless  1  would  take  it. 
But  a  student  who  saw  them  lately  said  our  mother  looked 
wan  and  ill.     And  to  incro^«e  their  difficulties,  a  month 


S4  THE  SCHONBEROCOTTA  FAMILY. 

Bincii  the  father  received  into  the  house  a  Httle  orphan  girl 
a  cousin  of  our  mother's,  called  Eva  von  Schonberg. 
Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  grudge  the  orphan  her  crust, 
but  when  it  makes  a  crust  less  for  the  mother  and  the  lit- 
tle ones,  it  is  difficult  to  rejoice  in  such  an  act  of  charity, 

Erfurt,  July,  1503. 

1HAVE  just  ottained  a  nomination  on  a  foundation, 
which  will,  I  hope,  for  the  present  at  least,  prevent 
my  being  any  burden  on  my  family  for  my  own  mainte 
nance.  The  rules  are  very  strict,  and  they  are  enforced 
with  many  awful  vows  and  oaths  which  trouble  my  con- 
science not  a  little,  because,  if  the  least  detail  of  these  rules 
to  which  I  have  sworn  is  even  inadvertently  omitted,  I 
involve  myself  in  the  guilt  of  perjury.  However,  it  is  a 
Btep  onward  in  the  way  to  independence ;  and  a  far  heavier 
yoke  might  well  be  borne  with  such  an  object. 

We  (the  beneficiaries  on  this  foundation)  have  solemnly 
vowed  to  observe  the  seven  canonical  hours,  never  omitting 
the  prayers  belonging  to  each.  This  ensures  early  rising, 
which  is  a  good  thing  for  a  student.  The  most  difficult  to 
keep  is  the  midnight  hour,  after  a  day  of  hard  study ;  but 
it  is  no  more  than  soldiers  on  duty  have  continually  to  go 
through.  We  have  also  to  chant  the  Miserere  at  funerals, 
and  frequently  to  hear  the  eulogy  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
Mary.  This  last  can  certainly  not  be  called  a  hardship, 
It-ast  of  all  to  me  who  desire  ever  henceforth  to  have  an 
especial  devotion  to  Our  Lady,  to  recite  daily  the  Rosary, 
commemorating  the  joys  of  Mary,  the  Salutation,  the  jour- 
ney across  the  mountains,  the  birth  without  pain,  the  find- 
ing of  Jesus  in  the  Temple,  and  the  Ascension.  It  is  only 
the  vows  which  make  it  rather  a  bondage.  But,  indeed, 
in  spite  of  all,  it  is  a  great  boon.  I  can  conscientiously 
write  to  Else  now  that  I  shall  not  need  another  penny  of 
their  scant}'  store,  and  can  even  by  the  next  opportunity 


FRTEDRICWS  CHRONICLB 


« 


return  Avhat   she   sent,  which,  hap2>ily,   I  liave   not   yet 
touched 

Auguit,  3503. 
AETIN  LUTHER  is  very  dangerousiy  ill;  many 
of  the  professors  and  students  are  in  great  anxiety 
ibout  him.  He  has  so  many  friends;  and  no  wondtr! 
fie  is  no  cold  friend  himself,  and  all  expect  great  honour 
to  tly*  CJni^'ersity  from  his  abilities.  I  scarcely  dare  to 
tliink  what  his  loss  would  be  to  me.  But  this  morning  an 
aged  priest  who  visited  him  inspired  us  with  some  hope. 
As  Martin  lay,  apparently  in  the  last  extremity,  and  him- 
self expecting  death,  this  old  priest  came  to  his  bedside, 
and  said  gently  but  in  a  firm  tone  of  conviction, — 

"  Be  of  good  comfort,  my  brother,  you  will  not  die  at 
this  time ;  God  will  yet  make  a  great  man  of  you,  who 
shall  comfort  many  others.  Whom  God  loveth  and  pro- 
poseih  to  make  a  blessing,  upon  him  he  early  layeth  the 
cross,  and  in  that  school,  who  patiently  endure  learn  much." 

The  words  came  with  a  strange  kind  of  power,  and  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that  there  is  a  little  improvement  ic 
the  patient  since  they  were  uttered.  Truly,  good  words 
are  like  food  and  medicine  to  body  and  soul. 

Erfurt,  August,  1503. 
ARTIN  LUTHER  is  recovered !  The  Ahuighty 
the  Blessed  Mother,  and  all  the  saints  be  ])raised. 
The  good  old  priest's  words  have  also  brought  some  es 
pecial  comfort  to  me.  If  it  could  only  be  possible  that 
those  troubles  and  cares  which  have  weighed  so  heavily 
on  Else's  early  life  and  mine,  are  not  the  rod  of  anger,  but 
the  cross  laid  on  those  God  loveth  I  But  who  cxn  tell  ? 
For  Else,  at  least,  I  will  try  to  believe  this. 

The  world  is  wide  in  those  days,  with  the  great  New 
World  opened  by  the  Spanish  mariners  beyond  the  Allan- 
lie,  and  the  noble  Old  World  opened  to  students  through 


56  TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

the  sacred  fountains  of  the  ancient  classics,  once  more 
unsealed  by  the  revived  study  of  the  ancient  languages ; 
and  this  new  discovery  of  printing,  which  will,  my  fiither 
tliinks,  diifuse  the  newly  unsealed  fountains  of  ancient 
wisdom  in  countless  channels  among  high  and  low. 

These  are  glorious  times  to  live  in.  So  much  already 
anfolded  to  us  !  And  who  knows  what  beyond  ?  For  it 
seems  as  if  the  hearts  of  men  everywhere  were  beating 
high  with  expectation  _:  as  if,  in  these  days,  nothing  were 
too  great  to  anticipate,  or  too  good  to  believe. 

It  is  well  to  encounter  our  dragons  aL  the  threshold  of 
life  ;  instead  of  at  the  end  of  the  race — at  the  threshold  of 
death ;  therefore,  I  may  well  be  content.  In  this  wide  and 
ever  widening  world,  there  nnist  be  some  career  for  mo 
and  mine.     What  will  it  be  ? 

And  what  will  Martin  Luther's  be?  Much  is  expected 
from  him.  Famous  every  one  at  the  University  says  he 
must  be.  On  what  field  will  he  win  his  laurels  ?  WUl 
they  be  laurels  or  palms  ? 

When  I  hear  him  in  the  debater  of  the  students,  all 
waiting  for  his  opinions,  and  applauding  his  eloquent 
words,  I  see  the  laurel  already  among  his  black  hair, 
wreathing  his  massive  homely  forehead.  But  when  I  re- 
member the  debate  which  I  know  there  is  within  him,  the 
anxious  fervency  of  his  devotions,  his  struggle  of  con- 
Bcience,  his  distress  at  any  omission  of  duty,  and  watch 
the  deep  melancholy  look  which  there  is  sometimes  in  his 
dark  eyes,  I  think  not  of  the  tales  of  the  heroes,  but  of  thft 
legends  of  the  saints,  and  wonder  in  what  victory  over  the 
old  dragon  he  will  win  his  palm. 

But  the  bells  are  soundi.ng  for  compline,  and  1  must  not 
miss  the  sacred  hear 


III. 


ELSE'S    CHRONICLE. 


Eisenach,  1501. 
CANNOT  say  that  things  have  prospered  mucii 
with  us  since  Fritz  left.  The  hxmber  room 
itself  is  changed.  The  piles  of  old  books  are 
much  reduced,  because  we  have  been  obliged 
to  pawn  many  of  them  for  food.  Some  even  of  the  fath- 
er's beautiful  models  have  had  to  be  sold.  It  went  terribly 
to  his  heart.     But  it  paid  our  debts. 

Our  grandmother  has  grown  a  little  querulous  at  timea 
lately.  And  I  am  so  tempted  to  be  cross  sometimes.  The 
boys  eat  so  mucii,  and  wear  out  their  clothes  so  fast. 
Indeed,  I  cannot  see  that  poverty  makes  any  of  us  any 
better,  except  it  be  my  mother,  who  needed  improvement 
least  of  all. 


September,  1504, 

THE  father  has  actually  brought  a  new  inmate  into 
the  house,  a  little  girl,  called  Eva  von  Schonberg,  a 
distant  cousin  of  our  mother. 

Last  week  he  told  us  she  was  coming,  very  abruptly. 

I  think  he  was  rather  afraid  of  what  our  grandmother 

would  say,  for  we  all  know  it  is  not  of  the  least  use  to 

eome  round  her  with  soft  speeches.     She  always  sees  what 

3*  ir.7) 


US  TEE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILT 

ii  tKe  faiiy  prince  we  used  to  talk  of  were  to  come,  )ia 
would  scarcely  recognise  the  fair  little  i)rincess  he  had  seen 
at  church.  And  yet  no  fairy  prince  need  be  ashamed  of 
our  Else,  even  in  her  working,  everyday  clothes ; — he  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  the  right  one  if  he  were.  In  the  twi' 
light,  Avhen  the  day's  work  is  done,  and  the  children  are 
asleep,  and  she  comes  and  sits  beside  me  with  her  knitting 
in  the  lumber-room  or  under  the  pear-tree  in  the  garden, 
what  princess  could  look  fresher  or  neater  than  Else,  with 
her  smooth  fair  hair  braided  like  a  coronet  ?  Who  would 
think  that  she  bad  been  toiling  all  day,  cooking,  washing, 
nursing  the  children.  Except,  indeed,  because  of  the 
healthy  color  her  active  life  gives  her  face,  and  for  that 
sweet  low  voice  of  hers,  which  I  think  women  learn  best 
by  the  cradles  of  little  children. 

I  suppose  it  is  because  I  have  never  yet  seen  any  maiden 
to  b?  compared  to  our  Else  that  I  have  not  yet  fallen  in  love. 
AncI,  nevertheless,  it  is  not  of  such  a  face, (as  Else's  I  dream, 
when  dreams  come,  or  even  exactly  such  as  my  mother's. 
My  mother's  eyes  are  dimmed  wiih  many  cares ;  is  it  not 
that  very  worn  and  foded  brow  that  makes  her  sacred  to 
me  ?  More  sacred  than  any  saintly  halo  !  And  Else,  good, 
practi  ^al  little  Else,  she  is  a  dear  household  fairy ;  but  the 
face  I  dream  of  has  another  look  in  it.  Else's  eyes  are 
good,  as  she  says,  for  seeing  and  helping ;  and  sweet,  in- 
deed, \hey  are  for  loving — dear,  kind,  true  eyes.  But  the 
eyes  \  dream  of  have  another  look,  a  fire  like  our  grand- 
motliir's,  as  if  from  a  southern  sun;  dim,  dreamy,  far-see- 
ing glances,  burning  into  hearts,  like  the  ladies  in  the 
romances,  and  yet  piercing  into  heaven,  like  St.  Cecilia's 
when  she  stands  entranced  by  her  organ.  She  should  be 
a  saint,  at  whose  feet  I  might  sit  and  look  through  her 
pure  heart  into  heaven,  and  yet  she  should  love  me  wholly, 
passionately,  fearlessly,  devotedly,  as  if  her  heaven  were 
dl'  in  my  love.     My  love !    and  who  am  I  that  I  should 


FRIEDRICWS  CHROmCLJS.  39 

have  sucL  dreams?  A  poor  burgher  lad  of  Eisenach,  a 
penniless  student  of  a  week's  standing  at  Erfurt!  Tho 
eldest  son  of  a  large  destitute  family,  w  ho  must  not  dare 
to  think  of  loving  the  most  perfect  maiden  in  the  world, 
when  I  meet  her,  until  I  have  rescued  a  father,  mother, 
and  six  brothers  and  sisters  from  the  jaws  of  biting  poverty. 
Aud  even  in  a  dream  it  seems  almost  a  treachery  to  put 
any  poor  creature  above  Else.  I  fancy  I  see  her  kind  blue 
eyes  filling  with  reproachful  tears.  For  there  is  no  doubt 
that  in  Else's  heart  I  have  no  rival,  even  iii  a  dream  Poor, 
loving,  little  Else ! 

Yes,  she  must  be  rescued  from  the  j.ressure  of  those 
daily  fretting  cares  of  penury  and  hope  deferred,  which 
have  made  our  mother  old  so  early.  If  I  had  been  in  the 
father's  place,  I  could  never  have  borne  to  see  winter 
creeping  so  soon  over  the  summer  of  her  ].fe.  But  he  does 
not  see  it.  Or  if  for  a  moment  her  pale  face  and  the  grey 
hairs  which  begin  to  come  seem  to  troul  le  him,  he  kisses 
her  forehead,  and  says, 

"  But,  mother,  it  will  soon  be  over ;  there  is  nothing 
wanting  noAV  but  the  last  link  to  make  this  last  invention 
perfect,  and  then — " 

And  then  he  goes  into  hiis  printing-room ;  but  to  this 
day  the  missing  link  has  never  been  found.  Else  and  our 
mother,  however,  always  believe  it  will  turn  up  some 
day.  Our  grandmother  has  doiibts.  And  I  have  scarcely 
any  hope  at  all,  althougli,  for  all  the  vvorld,  I  would  nol 
breathe  this  to  any  one  at  home.  To  me  that  labc  ratory  of 
my  father's,  with  its  furnace,  its  models,  its  strange 
machines,  is  the  most  melancholy  place  in  the  world.  It 
is  like  a  haunted  chamber, — haunted  with  the  helpless 
nameless  ghosts  of  infants  that  have  died  at  their  birth, — 
the  ghosts  of  vain  and  fruitless  projects ;  like  the  ruiiis  of 
a  city  that  some  earthquake  had  destroyed  before  it  was 
ftoiBhed,  ruined  palaces  that  were  never  roofe<l,  i  nnod 


6o  TUB  8CH0NBER0-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

herself  at  her  feet,  laid  her  two  little,  soft  hands  on  thfl 
dear,  thin,  old  hands,  and  said, — 

"  You  must  love  me,  for  I  shall  love  you  very  much 
You  are  like  my  great-aunt  who  died." 

And,  strange  to  say,  our  grandmother  seemed  quite  flat- 
tered ;  and  ever  since  they  have  been  close  friends.  In- 
deed she  commands  us  all,  and  there  is  not  one  in  the 
house  who  does  not  seem  to  think  her  notice  a  favour.  I 
wonder  if  Fritz  would  feel  the  same  ! 

Our  father  lets  her  sit  in  his  printing-room  when  he  is 
making  experiments,  which  none  of  us  ever  dared  to  do. 
She  perches  herself  on  the  window-sill,  and  watches  him 
as  if  she  imderstood  it  all,  and  he  talks  to  her  as  if  he 
thought  she  did. 

Then  she  has  a  wonderful  way  of  telling  the  legends  of 
the  saints  to  the  children.  When  our  grandmother  tells 
them,  I  think  of  the  saints  as  heroes  and  warriors.  When 
I  try  to  relate  the  sacred  stories  to  the  little  ones,  I  am 
afraid  I  make  them  too  much  like  fairy  tales.  But  w^hen 
little  Eva  is  speaking  about  St.  Agnes  or  St.  Catherine, 
her  voice  becomes  soft  and  deep,  like  church  music ;  and 
her  face  grave  and  beautiful,  like  one  of  the  child  angels  in 
therjpictures  ;  and  her  eyes  as  if  they  saw  into  heaven.  I 
wish  Fritz  could  hear  her.  I  think  she  must  be  just  what 
the  saints  were  when  they  were  little  children,  except  for 
that  strange,  quiet  way  she  has  of  making  every  one  do 
what  she  likes.  If  our  St.  Elizabeth  had  resembled  our 
little  Eva  in  that,  I  scarcely  think  the  Landgravine-mother 
would  have  ventured  to  have  been  so  cruel  to  her.  Per 
haps  it  is  little  Eva  who  is  to  be  the  saint  among  us ;  and 
by  helping  her  we  may  best  please  God,  and  be  admitted 
at  last  to  some  humble  place  in  heaven. 


ELSE'S  CHRONICLE.  6l 

Eisenach,  Decembtr. 

T  is  a  great  comfort  that  Fritz  writes  in  such  good 
s])irits.  He  seems  full  of  hope  as  to  his  prospects,  and 
already  ho  has  obtained  a  place  in  some  excellent  institu- 
tion, where,  Ve  says,  he  lives  like  a  cardinal,  and  is  quite 
ahove  wanting  assistance  from  any  one.  This  is  Acry  en- 
couraging. Martin  Luther,  also,  is  on  the  way  to  be  quite 
a  great  man,  Fritz  says.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  this ;  he 
looked  so  much  like  any  one  else,  and  we  are  all  so  com- 
I>letely  at  home  with  him,  and  he  talks  in  such  a  simple, 
fiimiliar  way  to  us  all — not  in  learned  words,  or  about  dif- 
ficult, abstruse  subjects,  like  the  other  wise  men  I  know. 
Certainly  it  always  interests  us  all  to  hear  him,  bat  one 
can  understand  all  he  says-  -even  I  can  ;  so  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  think  of  him  as  a  philosopher  and  a  great  man.  1 
suppose  wise  men  must  be  like  the  saints  :  one  can  only 
Bee  what  they  are  when  they  are  some  distance  from  us. 

What  kind  of  great  man  will  Martin  Luther  be,  I  won- 
der ?  As  great  as  our  burgomastei ,  or  as  Master  Trebo- 
nius  ?  Perhaps  even  greater  than  these ;  as  great,  even, 
as  the  Elector's  secretary,  who  came  to  see  our  father 
about  his  inventions.  But  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  think 
of  it,  especially  on  Fritz's  account ;  for  I  am  sure  Martin 
will  never  forget  old  friends. 

I  cannot  quite  comprehend  Eva's  religion.  It  seems  to 
make  her  happy.  I  do  not  think  she  is  afraid  of  God,  or 
even  of  confession.  She  seems  to  enjoy  going  to  church 
as  if  it  were  a  holiday  in  the  woods  ;  and  the  name  of 
Jesus  seems  not  terrible,  but  dear,  to  her,  as  the  name  of 
the  sweet  Mother  of  God  is  to  me.  This  is  very  difficilt 
to  understand.  I  think  she  is  not  even  very  much  af  aid 
of  the  judgment-day  ;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  I  think 
so  : — The  other  night  when  we  were  both  awakened  bv  an 
awful  thunder-storm,  I  hid  my  face  under  the  clothes,  in 
order  not  to  see  the  flaehes,  until  I  heard  the  children  cry 


bl  THE  SCEONBERO-GOTT*  FAMILY. 

ing  in  the  next  room,  and  rose,  of  course,  to  sootlie  them, 
because  our  mother  had  been  very  tired  that  day,  and  was, 
I  trusted,  asleep.  When  I  had  sung  and  talked  to  the  lit- 
tle ones,  and  sat  by  them  till  they  Avere  asleep,  I  returned 
to  our  room,  trembling  in  every  Innb ;  but  I  found  Eva 
kneeling  by  the  bedside,  with  her  crucifix  pressed  to  hei 
bosom,  looking  as  calm  and  hapj^y  as  if  the  lightning  flashes 
had  been  morning  sunbeams. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  when  I  entered ;  and  when  I 
was  once  more  safely  in  bed,  with  my  ai'm  around  her,  and 
the  storm  had  lulled  a  little,  I  said, — 

"  Eva,  are  you  not  afraid  of  the  lightning  ?" 

"  I  think  it  might  hurt  us,  Cousin  Else,"  she  said  ;  "  anu 
that  was  the  reason  I  was  praying  to  God." 

"  Bmt,  Eva,"  I  said,  "  supj^osing  the  thunder  should  be 
the  archangel's  voice  ?  I  always  think  every  thimder- 
storm  may  be  the  beginning  of  the  day  of  wrath — the 
dreadful  judgment-day.     What  should  you  do  then  ?" 

She  was  silent  a  little,  and  then  she  said, — 

"  I  think  I  should  take  my  crucifix  and  pray,  and  try  to 
ask  the  Lord  Christ  to  remember  that  he  died  on  the  cross 
for  us  once.  I  think  he  would  take  pity  on  us  if  we  did. 
Besides,  Cousin  Else,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  I  have 
a  sentence  which  always  comforts  me.  My  father  taught 
it  me  when  I  was  a  very  little  girl,  in  the  prison,  before  he 
died.  I  could  not  remember  it  all,  but  this  part  I  have 
never  forgotten  :  '■God  so  loved  (he  loorld,  (hat  he  gave  hia 
only  Son.''  There  was  more,  which  I  forgot ;  but  that  bit 
I  always  remembered,  because  I  was  my  father's  only 
child,  and  he  loved  me  so  dearly.  I  do  not  quite  know  i  J] 
it  means;  but  I  know  they  are  God's  worcs,  and  I  feel 
Bure  it  means  that  God  loves  us  very  mucli,  and  that  he  ia 
in  someway  hke  my  father." 

"I  know,"  I  replied,  "  the  Creed  says,  '  God  the  Father 
Almighty ;"  bnt  I  never  thought  that  the  Almighty  Fathei 


ELBE'S  CEROmCLS.  63 

meant  aiiythiiig  like  our  own  father.  I  thought  it  meant 
only  that  he  is  very  great,  and  that  we  all  belong  to  him 
and  that  we  ought  to  love  him.  Are  you  sure,  Eva,  il 
nierais  he  loves  iis  ?" 

"I  believe  so.  Cousin  Else,"  said  Era. 

"  Perhaps  it  does  mean  that  he  loves  yo?/,  Eva,"  I  an- 
*wered.  "But  you  are  a  good  child,  and  always  have 
been,  I  should  think ;  and  M'e  all  know  that  God  loves 
people  who  are  good.  That  sentence  says  nothing,  yon 
Bee,  about  God  loving  people  who  are  not  good.  It  is 
because  I  am  never  sure  that  I  am  doing  the  things  that 
please  him,  that  I  am  afraid  of  God  and  of  the  judgment-day." 

Eva  was  silent  a  minute,  and  then  she  said, — 

"I  wish  I  could  remember  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 
Perhaps  it  might  tell." 

"  Where  does  that  sentence  come  from,  Eva  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  Perhaps  we  might  find  it.  Do  you  think  God  said  it  to 
your  father  from  heaven,  in  a  \asion  or  a  dream,  as  he 
speaks  to  the  saints  ?  " 

"I  think  not.  Cousin  Else,"  she  replied  thoughtfully; 
*'  because  my  father  said  it  was  in  a  book,  wh-ich  he  told 
rne  where  to  find  when  he  was  gone.  But  when  I  found 
the  book,  a  priest  took  it  from  me,  and  said  it  was  not  a 
good  book  for  little  girls ;  and  I  nevei-  had  it  again.  So  I 
have  only  my  sentence,  Cousin  Else.  I  wish  it  made  you 
happy,  as  it  does  me." 

I  kissed  the  darling  child  and  wished  her  good  night ; 
out  I  could  not  sleep.  I  wish  I  could  see  the  buok.  But, 
perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  not  a  right  book  ;  because  (although 
Eva  does  not  know  it)  I  heard  my  grandraotbar  say  her 
father  was  a  ITussite,  and  died  on  the  scafibid  for  believing 
eomething  wrong. 

In  the  morning  Eva  was  awake  b<jfore  me.  Tier  larg« 
dark  eyes  wei"e  watching  me,  and  the  momeut  I  woke  ^hc 
Baid,-  - 


$4  TEE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

''  Cousin  Else,  I  think  the  end  of  that  sentence  has  30™* 
ihing  to  do  with  the  crucifix  ;  because  I  always  think  of 
ihem  together.  You  know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  God'8 
Duly  Son,  and  he  died  on  the  cross  for  us." 

And  she  rose  and  dressed,  and  said-  she  would  go  to 
matins  and  say  prayers  for  me,  that  I  might  not  be  afraid 
«  the  next  thunder-storm. 

It  must  be  true,  I  am  sure,  that  the  Cross  and  the  blessed 
Passion  were  meant  to  do  us  some  good ;  but  then  they 
can  only  do  good  to  those  who  please  God,  and  that  is  pre- 
cisely what  it  is  so  exceedingly  difficult  to  find  out  how 
to  do. 

I  cannot  think,  hoAvever,  that  Eva  can  in  any  way  bo 
believing  Avrong,  because  she  is  so  religious  and  so  good.  Sh 
attends  most  regularly  at  the  confessional,  and  is  always 
at  church  at  the  early  mass,  and  many  times  besides. 
Often,  also,  I  find  her  at  her  devotions Jbefore  the  crucifix 
and  the  picture  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  Child  in  our  room. 
She  seems  really  to  enjoy  being  religious,  as  they  say  St. 
Elizabeth  did. 

As  for  me,  there  is  so  very  much  to  do  between  the 
printing,  and  the  house,  and  our  dear  mother's  ill  health, 
and  the  baby,  and  the  boys,  who  tear  their  clothes  in  such 
incomprehensible  ways,  that  I  feel  more  and  more  how  ut- 
terly hopeless  it  is  for  me  ever  to  be  like  any  of  the  saints* 
• — unless,  indeed,  it  is  St.  Christopher,  whose  legend  is 
often  a  comfort  to  me,  as  our  grandmother  used  to  tell  it 
to  us,  which  was  in  this  way : — 

Ofienxs  was  a  soldier,  a  heathen,  wtio  lived  in  the  land 
of  Canaan.  He  had  a  body  twelve  eils  long.  He  did  not 
like  to  obey,  but  to  command.  He  did  not  care  what  harm 
he  did  to  others,  but  lived  a  very  wild  life,  attacking  and 
plundering  all  who  came  in  hie  way.  He  only  wished  for 
one  thing— to  sell  his  services  to  the  Mightiest ;  and  as  he 
heard  that  the  emperor  was  in  those  days  ♦.he  head  of 


El  HE'S  CHItONIGLS.  6$ 

Chrielendom,  be  said,  "Lord  Emperor,  will  you  hav<9  me? 
To  none  less  will  I  sell  my  heart's  blood." 

The  emperor  looked  at  his  Samson  strength,  his  giant 
chest,  and  his  mighty  fists,  and  he  said,  "  If  thou  wilt  servo 
me  for  ever,  Offerus,  1  Avill  allow  it." 

Immediately  the  giant  answered,  "To  serve  jonforevei 
is  not  so  easily  promised  ;  but  as  long  as  I  am  your  eoldioi. 
Done  in  east  or  west  shall  troi;ble  you." 

Thereupon  he  went  with  the  emperor  through  all  the 
land,  and  the  emperor  was  delighted  with  him.  All  the 
soldiers,  in  the  combat  as  at  the  wine-cup,  were  miserable, 
helpless  creatures  compared  with  Offerus. 

Now  the  emperor  had  a  harper  who  sang  from  morning 
till  bed  time ;  and  whenever  the  emperor  was  weary  with 
the  march  this  minstrel  had  to  touch  his  harp-strings. 
Once,  at  eventide,  they  pitched  the  tents  near  a  forest. 
The  emperor  ate  and  drank  lustily ;  the  minstrel  sang  a 
merry  song.  But  as,  in  his  song,  he  spoke  of  the  evil  ono, 
the  emperor  signed  the  cross  on  his  forehead.  Said  Offerus 
aloud  to  his  comrades,  "  What  is  this  ?  What  jest  is  the 
prince  making  now  ?  "  Then  the  emperor  said,  "  Offerus, 
listen :  I  did  it  on  account  of  the  wicked  fiend,  who  is  said 
often  to  haunt  this  forest  with  great  rage  and  fury."  That 
Beemed  marvellous  to  Offerus,  and  he  said,  scornfully,  to 
the  emperor,  "  I  have  a  fancy  for  wild  boars  and  deer.  Let 
us  hunt  in  this  forest."  The  emperor  said  softly,  "  Offerus, 
no!  Let  alone  the  chase  in  this  forest,  for  in  filling  thy 
larder  thou  mightest  harm  thy  soul."  Then  Offerus  mn.de 
a  wry  face,  and  said,  "  The  grapes  are  sour ;  if  your  high, 
ness  is  afraid  of  the  devil,  I  will  enter  the  service  of  this 
lord,  Avho  is  mightier  than  you."  Thereupon  he  coolly  de- 
manded his  pay,  took  his  departure,  with  no  very  cere- 
monious leave-taking,  and  strode  off  cheerily  into  •  he 
thickest  depths  of  the  forest. 

In  a  wild  clearing  of  the  forest  he  found  the  devil's  al  *r, 


66  THE  BCndNBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

built  of  blaik  cinders  ;  and  on  it,  in  the  moonlight,  gleamed 
the  white  skeletons  of  men  and  horses.  OfFerus  "svas  in  nc 
way  terrified,  but  quietly  inspected  the  skulls  and  bones 
then  he  called  three  times  in  a  loud  voice  on  the  evil  one 
and  seating  himself  fell  asleep,  and  soon  began  to  snore. 
When  it  was  midnight,  the  earth  seemed  to  crack,  and  on 
a  coal-black  horse  he  saw  a  pitch-black  rider,  who  rode  at 
him  fnriously,  and  sought  to  bind  him  with  solemn  jirc- 
raises.  But  OiFerus  said,  "We  shall  see."  Then  they 
went  together  through  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and 
Offerus  found  him  a  better  master  than  the  emperor ; 
— needed  seldom  to  polish  his  armor,  but  had  plenty  of 
feasting  and  fun.  However,  one  day  as  they  Avent  along 
the  high-road,  three  tall  crosses  stood  before  them.  Then 
the  Black  Prince  suddenly  had  a  cold,  and  said,  "  Let  us 
creep  i;ound  by  the  bye-road."  Said  Oiferus,  "  Methinks 
you  are  afraid  of  those  gallowses,"  and,  drawing  his  bow, 
he  shot  an  arrow  into  the  middle  cross.  "  What  bad  man- 
ners ! "  said  Satan,  softly ;  "  do  you  not  know  that  Pie  who 
in  his  form  as  a  servant  is  the  son  of  Mary,  now  exercises 
great  power?"  "If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Offierus,  "1 
came  to  you  fettered  by  no  promise ;  now  I  will  seek 
further  for  the  Mightiest,  Avhom  only  I  will  serve."  Then 
Satan  went  oif  with  a  mocking  laugh,  and  Oiferus  went  on 
his  way,  asking  every  traveller  he  met  for  the  Son  of 
Mary.  But,  alas  !  few  bare  him  in  their  hearts,  and  no 
one  could  tell  the  giant  Avhere  the  Lord  dwelt,  until  one 
evening  Offerus  found  an  old  pious  hermit,  who  gave  him  a 
night's  lodging  in  his  cell,  and  sent  him  the  next  morning 
to  the  Carthusian  cloister.  There  the  lord  prior  listened 
to  Oflferus,  showed  him  plainly  the  path  of  faith,  and  told 
him  he  must  fast  and  pray,  as  John  the  Baptist  did  of  old 
in  the  wilderness.  But  he  replied,  "Locusts  and  wild 
hon  ?y,  my  lord,  are  quite  contrary  to  my  nature,  and  I  do 
Dot  know  any  prayers.     I  should  lose  my  strength  alto> 


ai^SE'lS  CHRONICLE.  67 

gether,  and  bad  rather  not  go  to  heaven  at  all  than  in  that 
way."  "Reckless  man!"  said  the  prior.  "However, 
you  may  try  another  way :  give  yourself  up  heartily  to 
achieve  some  good  work."  "  Ah !  let  me  hear,"  said  Of- 
ferus ;  "  I  have  strength  for  that."  "  See,  there  flows  a 
mighty  river,  which  hinders  pilgrims  on  their  way  to 
Rome.  It  has  neither  ford  nor  bridge.  Carry  the  faithful 
over  on  thy  back."  "  If  I  can  please  the  Saviour  in  that 
way,  willingly  will  I  carry  the  travellers  to  and  fro,"  re- 
pUed  the  giant.  And  thereupon  he  built  a  hut  of  reeds, 
and  dwelt  thenceforth  among  the  water-rats  and  beavers 
on  the  borders  of  the  river,  carrying  pilgrims  over  the 
river  cheerfully,  like  a  camel  or  an  elephant.  But  if  any 
one  oifered  him  ferry-money,  he  said,  "I  labor  for  eternal 
life."  And  wben  now,  after  many  years,  Offerus's  hair 
had  grown  Avhite,  one  stormy  night  a  plaintive  little  voice 
called  to  him,  "  Dear,  good,  tall  Oiferus,  carry  me  across." 
Oflerus  was  tired  and  sleepy,  but  he  thought  faithfully  of 
Jesus  Christ,  and  with  weary  arms  seizing  the  pine  trunk 
which  was  his  staff  when  the  floods  swelled  high,  he  waded 
through  the  water  and  nearly  reached  the  opposite  bank ; 
but  he  saw  no  pilgrim  there,  so  he  thought,  "  I  was  dream- 
ing," and  went  back  and  lay  down  to  sleep  again.  But 
scarcely  had  he  fallen  asleep  when  again  came  the  little 
voice,  this  time  very  plaintive  and  touching,  "  Offerus, 
good,  dear,  great,  tall  Oflerus,  carry  rae  across."  Patiently 
the  old  giant  crossed  the  river  again,  b'.it  neither  man  nor 
mouKe  was  to  be  seen,  and  he  went  back  and  lay  down 
agaJti,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep ;  when  once  more  came 
thp  little  voice,  clear  and  plaintive,  and  imploring,  "  Good, 
drar,  giant  Offerus,  carry  me  across."  Tlie  third  time  he 
^ized  his  pine-stem  and  went  through  the  cold  river.  This 
^ime  he  found  a  tender,  fair  little  boy,  Avith  golden  hair.  In 
^18  left  hand  was  the  standard  of  the  Lamb ;  in  his  right, 
the  globe.     He  looked  at  the  giant  with  eyes  full  of  lov€ 


58  THE  8GH0NBERO-  (JO  TTA  FA  MIL  7. 

Bii'l  trust,  and  Offerus  lifted  him  up  with  two  fingers ;  but, 
when  lie  entered  the  river,  the  little  child  weighed  on  him 
like  a  ton.  Heavier  and  heavier  grew  the  weight,  until 
the  water  almost  reached  his  chin ;  great  drops  of  sweat 
stood  on  his  brow,  and  he  had  nearly  sunk  in  the  stream 
Viith  the  little  one.  However,  he  struggled  through,  and 
tottering  to  the  other  side,  set  the  child  gently  down  on 
the  bank,  and  said,  "  My  little  lord,  prithee,  come  not  this 
way  again,  for  scarcely  have  I  escaped  this  time  with  life." 
But  the  fair  child  baptized  Ofierus  on  the  spot,  and  said  to 
him,  "Know  all  thy  sins  are  forgiven;  and  although  thy 
limbs  tottered,  fear  not,  nor  marvel,  but  rejoice  ;  thou  hast 
carried  the  Saviour  of  the  world !  For  a  token,  plant  thy 
pine-trunk,  so  long  dead  and  leatless,  m  the  earth ;  to-mor- 
row it  shall  shoot  out  green  twigs.  And  henceforth  thou 
shalt  be  called  not  Offerus,  but  Christopher."  Then 
Christopher  folded  his  hands  and  prayed  and  said,  "  I  feel 
my  end  draws  nigh.  My  limbs  tremble ;  my  strength 
fails  ;  and  God  has  forgiven  me  all  my  sins."  Thereupon 
the  child  vanished  in  light ;  and  Christopher  set  his  staff 
in  the  eartli.  And  so  on  the  morrow,  it  shot  out  green 
leaves  and  red  blossoms  like  an  almond.  And  three  days 
afterwards  the  angels  carried  Christopher  to  Paradise. 

This  is  the  legend  which  gives  me  more  hope  than  any 
other.  How  sweet  it  would  be,  if,  when  I  tried  in  some 
humble  way  to  help  one  and  another  on  the  way  to  the 
Holy  City,  when  the  last  burden  was  borne,  and  the 
strength  was  failing,  the  Holy  Child  should  appear  to  me 
and  say,  "  Little  Else,  you  have  done  the  work  I  meant 
you  to  do — your  sins  .are  forgiven  ;  "  and  then  the  angels 
were  to  come  and  take  me  up  in  their  arms,  and  carry  me 
across  the  dark  river,  and  my  life  were  to  grow  young 
and  bloom  again  in  Paradise,  like  St.  Christopher's  withered 
staff! 

But  to  watch  all  the  long  days  of  hfe  by  the  river,  and 


ELSE'S  CURONICLE.  65 

arry  the  burdens,  and  not  know  if  we  aro  doing  die  right 
Jiing  after  all — that  is  what  is  so  hard ! 

Sweet,  when  the  river  was  crossed,  to  find  that  iu  fuHi'i. 
ing  some  little,  humble,  everyday  duty,  one  had  actually 
been  serving  and  pleasing  the  Mightiest,  the  Saviour  of 
the  world.  But  if  one  could  only  know  it  tvhilst  one  ivcn 
fetruo-gUng  through  the  flood,  how  delightful  that  would 
be !  How  little  one  would  mind  the  icy  waler,  or  the  aoli* 
mg  shoulders,  or  the  tottering,  failing  limbs ! 


IV. 


ELSE'S  CHRONICLE  CONTINUED. 


house ! 


EisENAcn,  January,  1505. 

jRTTZ  is  at  home  with  us  again.  He  looks  as 
much  a  man  now  as  our  father,  with  his  mous- 
tache and  his  sword.  How  cheerful  the  sound 
of  his  firm  step  and  his  deep  voice  makes  the 

When  I  look  at  him  sometimes,  as  he  tosses  the 
childreu  and  catches  them  in  his  arms,  or  as  he  flings  the 
balls  vith  Christopher  and  Pollux,  or  shoots  with  bow 
and  anows  in  the  evenings  at  the  city  games,  my  old  wish 
recurs  that  he  had  lived  in  the  days  when  our  ancestors 
dwelt  in  the  castles  in  Bohemia,  and  that  Fritz  had  been  a 
knight,  to  ride  at  the  head  of  his  retainers  to  battle  for 
Bome  gooC  cause, — against  the  Turks,  for  instance,  who 
are  now,  they  say,  threatening  the  Empire,  and  all  Christ- 
endom. My  little  world  at  home  is  wide  indeed,  and  full 
enough  for  me,  but  this  burgher  life  seems  narrow  and 
poor  for  him.  I  should  like  him  to  have'  to  do  with  men 
instead  of  books.  "Women  can  read,  and  learn,  and  think, 
if  they  have  time  (although,  of  course,  not  as  well  as  men 
can) ;  I  have  even  heard  of  women  writing  books.  St. 
Barbara  and  St.  Catherine  understood  astronomy,  and 
astrology,  and  philosophy,  and  could  speak  I  do  not  know 
how  many  languages.     But  they  could   not    have   gons 


ELSE'S  CHRONICLE.  7 

forth  anned  with  sliiekl  and  spear  like  St.  George  of  Cap- 
padocia,  to  deliver  the  fetterod  princess  and  slay  the  great 
African  dragon.  And  I  should  like  Fritz  to  do  what 
•romen  can  not  do.  There  is  such  strength  in  his  light, 
agile  frame,  and  such  power  hi  his  dark  eyes  ;  althougli, 
certainly,  after  all  he  had  written  to  us  about  his  princely 
fare  at  the  House  at  Erfurt,  where  he  is  a  beneficiary,  our 
mother  and  I  did  not  expect  to  have  seen  his  face  looking 
BO  hollow  and  thin. 

lie  has  brought  me  back  my  godmother's  gulden,  lie 
says  he  is  an  independent  man,  earning  his  own  livelihood, 
and  quite  above  receiving  any  such  gratuities.  However, 
as  I  devoted  it  to  Fritz  I  feel  I  have  a  right  to  spend  it  on 
him,  which  is  a  great  comfort,  because  I  can  provide  a  bet- 
ter table  than  we  can  usually  afford,  during  the  few  days 
he  will  stay  with  us,  so  that  he  may  never  guess  how 
pinched  Ave  often  are. 

I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  but  there  is  something  in  this 
return  of  Fritz  which  disappoints  me.  I  have  looked  for 
ward  to  it  day  and  night  through  all  these  two  years  with 
such  longing.  I  thought  we  should  begin  again  exactiy 
where  we  left  off.  I  pictured  to  myself  the  old  daily  life 
with  him  going  on  again  as  of  old.  I  thought  of  our  sit- 
ting in  the  lumber-room,  and  chatting  over  all  our  perplex 
ities,  our  own  and  the  family's,  pouring  our  hearts  into 
each  other  Avithout  reserve  or  fear,  so  that  it  was  scarcely 
like  talking  at  all,  but  like  thinking  aloud. 

And,  now,  instead  of  our -being  acquainted  with  every 
detail  of  each  other's  daily  life,  so  tliat  Ave  are  aware  what 
we  are  feeling  without  speaking  about  it,  there  is  a  Avhole 
history  of  new  experience  to  be  narrated  step  by  step,  and 
we  do  not  seem  to  know  Avhei"e  to  begin.  None  of  the 
others  can  feel  this  as  I  do.  He  is  all  to  the  children  and 
our  parents  that  he  ever  was,  and  Avhy  should  I  exi)ect 
more?     Indeed,  I  scarcely  know  what  I  did  expect,  or 


;a  THE  aCIldNBEUG-COTTA  FAMILT. 

what  I  do  want.  Why  should  Fritz  be  more  to  me  tha?i 
to  any  one  else  ?  It  is  seltish  to  wish  it,  and  it  is  childish 
to  imagine  that  two  years  could  bring  no  change.  Could 
I  have  Avished  it  ?  Do  I  not  glory  in  liis  strength,  and  in 
his  free  and  manly  bearing?  And  could  I  wish  a  student 
at  tlie  great  University  of  Erfurt,  who  is  soon  to  be  a 
Baclielor  of  Arts,  to  come  and  sit  on  the  piles  of  old  books 
in  our  lumber-room,  and  to  spend  his  time  in  gossiping 
with  me  ?  Besides,  Avhat  liave  I  to  say  ?  And  yet,  this 
evening,  when  the  twilight-hour  came  round  for  the  third 
time  since  he  returned,  and  he  seemed  to  forget  all  about 
!*>,  I  could  not  help  feeling  troubled,  and  so  took  refuge 
frere  by  myself, 

Fritz  has  been  sitting  in  the  fimily-room  for  the  last 
hour,  with  all  the  cliildren  round  him,  telling  them  histo 
ries  of  what  the  students  do  at  Erfurt ;  of  their  2:)oetical 
club,  where  they  meet  and  recite  their  own  verses,  oi 
translations  of  the  ancient  books  which  have  been  unburied 
lately,  and  yet  are  fresher,  he  says,  than  any  new  ones, 
and  set  every  one  thinking ;  of  the  debating  meeting,  and 
the  great  singing  parties,  where  hundreds  of  voices  join, 
making  music  fuller  than  any  organ, — in  both  of  Avhich 
Martin  Luther  seems  a  leader  and  a  prince ;  and  then  of 
t!ie  fights  among  the  students,  in  which  1  do  not  think 
Martin  Luther  has  joined,  but  which,  certainly,  interest 
Christopher  and  Pollux  more  than  anything  else.  The 
boys  Avere  standing  on  each  side  of  Fritz,  listening  with 
wide-open  eyes ;  Chriemhild  and  Atlantis  had  crept  close 
behind  him  Avith  their  seAving;  little  Thekla  was  on  his 
knee,  playing  Avith  his  sword-girdle ;  and  little  Eva  was 
perched  in  her  favourite  place  on  the  windoAV-sill,  in  front 
of  him.  At  iirst  she  kept  at  a  distance  from  him,  and  said 
nothing;  not,  1  think,  from  shyness,  for  I  do  not  believe 
timt  cliild  is  afraid  of  anj  one  or  any  thing,  but  from  a 
quaint  way  she  has  of  observing  people,  as  if  she  Avera 


ELSE'S  CHRONICLE. 


73 


learning  thtm  through  like  a  new  language,  or  like  a  sov- 
ereign making  sure  of  the  character  of  a  new  subject  he* 
fore  she  admits  him  into  her  service.  The  idea  of  the 
little  creature  treating  our  Fritz  in  that  grand  style  !  But 
it  is  of  no  use  resisting  it.  He  has  passed  through  his 
probation  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  is  as  much  flattered  as 
lie  grandmother,  or  any  of  us,  at  being  admitted  into  her 
confidence.  When  I  left,  Eva,  who  had  been  listening  for 
some  time  with  great  attention  to  his  student-stories,  had 
herself  become  the  chief  speaker,  and  the  whole  party 
were  attending  with  riveted  interest  while  she  related  to 
them  her  favourite  Legend  of  St.  Catherine.  They  had 
all  heard  it  before,  but  in  some  way  when  Eva  tells  these 
histories  they  always  seem  new.  I  suppose  it  is  because 
she  believes  them  so  fervently ;  it  is  not  as  if  she  Avere  re- 
peating something  she  had  heard,  but  quietly  narrating 
something  she  has  seen,  much  as  one  would  imagine  an 
angel  might  who  had  been  watching  unseen  while  it  all 
happened.  And,  meantiii}^,  her  eyes,  when  she  raises  them, 
with  their  fringe  of  long  lashes,  seem  to  look  at  once  into 
your  heart  and  into  heaven. 

No  wonder  Fritz  forgets  the  twilight-hour.  But  it  is 
strange  he  has  never  once  asked  about  our  chronicle.  Of 
that,  however,  I  am  glad,  because  I  would  not  for  the 
world  show  him  the  narrative  of  our  struggles. 

Can  it  be  possible  I  am  envious  of  little  Eva,  dear,  little, 
loving,  orphan  Eva  ?  I  do  rejoice  that  all  the  world  ishould 
ove  him.  Yet,  it  was  so  happy  to  be  Fritz's  only  friend  ; 
and  why  should  a  little  stranger  child  steal  my  precious 
twilight-hour  from  me? 

Well,  I  suppose  Aunt  Agnes  was  right,  and  I  made  an 
idol  of  Fritz,  and  God  was  angry,  and  I  am  being  pun- 
ished. But  the  saints  seemed  to  find  a  kind  of  sacred 
pleasure  in  their  ptuiishments,  and  I  do  not;  nor  do  1  fee' 
at  all  the  better  ibr  them,  "but  the  worse,  which  is  anucher 

4 


74  THE  SCnOiSBEROCOTTA  FAMILY 

proof  how  altogether  hopeless  it  is  for  me  to  try  to  be  a 

«4aint. 

Eisenach,  February. 

AS  I  wrot.)  those  last  words  in  the  deepening  twilight, 
two  strong  hands  were  laid  very  gently  on  my 
shoulder,  and  a  voice  said, — 

"  Sister  Else,  ivhtj  can  you  not  show  me  your  cliron- 
icle  ?  " 

I  could  make  no  reply. 

"  You  are  convicted,"  rejoined  the  same  voice. 

"Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  where  that  gulden  came 
from  ?     Let  me  see  your  godmother's  purse." 

I  began  to  feel  the  tears  choking  me  ;  but  Fritz  did  not 
seem  to  notice  them. 

"Else,"  he  said,  "you  may  pi'actise  your  little  decejjtive 
arts  on  all  the  rest  of  the  family,  but  they  will  not  do  with 
me.  Do  you  think  you  will  ever  persuade  me  you  have 
grown  thin  by  eating  sausages  .%nd  cakes  and  wonderful 
holiday  puddings  every  day  of  your  life  ?  Do  you  think 
the  hungry  delight  in  the  eyes  of  those  boys  was  occa- 
sioned by  their  everyday,  ordinary  fare  ?  Do  you  think," 
he  added,  taking  iny  hands  in  one  of  his,  "  I  did  not  see 
how  blue  and  cold,  and  covei'ed  with  chilblains  these  little 
hands  were,  which  piled  up  the  great  logs  on  the  hearth 
when  I  came  in  this  morning?  " 

Of  course  I  could  do  nothing  but  put  my  head  on  his 
shoulder  and  cry  quietly.  It  was  of  no  use  denying  any- 
thing.    Then  he  added  rapidly,  in  a  low  deep,  voice, — 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  help  seeing  our  mother  at  her 
old  devices,  pretending  she  had  no  appetite,  and  liked 
nothing  so  much  as  bones  and  sinews  ?  " 

"Oh,  Fritz,"  I  sobbsd,  "I  cannot  help  it.  What  am  I 
to  do  ?" 

"  At  least,"  he  said,  more  cheerfully,  "  promise  me,  littld 


KISS'S  CEROmOLE.  75 

womaU;  you  will  never  make  a  distinguishei  stranger  of 
your  brotlier  again,  and  endeavour  by  all  kinds  of  vain  and 
deceitful  dtvices  to  draw  the  whole  weight  of  the  family 
cares  on  your  own  shouldeis." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  a  sin  [  ought  to  confess,  Fritz  ?"  1 
said  ;  "  I  did  not  mean  it  deceitfully ;  but  I  am  always 
making  such  blunders  about  right  and  wrong.  What  can 
1  do  ?" 

"  Does  Aunt  Ursula  know  ?"  he  asked  rather  fiercely. 

"  No ;  the  mother  will  not  let  me  tell  any  one.  She 
thinks  they  would  reflect  on  our  father ;  and  he  told  her 
only  last  week,  he  has  a  plan  about  a  new  way  of  smelting 
lead,  wliich  is,  I  think,  to  tarn  it  all  into  silver.  That 
would  certainly  be  a  wonderful  discovery ;  and  he  thinks 
the  Elector  would  take  it  up  at  once,  and  we  should  i:)ro- 
bably  have  to  leave  Eisenach  and  live  near  the  Electoral 
Court.  Perhajis  even  the  emperor  would  require  us  to 
communicate  the  secret  to  him,  and  then  we  should  have 
to  leave  the  country  altogether ;  for  you  know  there  are 
great  lead-mines  in  Spain ;  and  if  once  people  could  make 
silver  out  of  lead,  it  would  be  much  easier  and  safer  than 
going  across  the  great  ocean  to  procure  the  native  silve: 
from  the  Indian  savages." 

Fritz  drew  a  long  breath. 

"And  meantime?"  he  said. 

"Well,  meantime!"  I  said,  "it  is  of  course  sometimes  a 
little  difficult  to  get  on." 

He  mused  a  little  while,  and  then  he  said, — 

"Little  Else,  I  have  thought  of  a  plan  which  may,  ] 
think,  bring  us  a  few  guldens — until  the  process  of  trans- 
muting lead  into  silver  is  completed." 

"  Of  course,"  I  said,  "  after  that  we  shall  want  nothhig, 
but  be  able  to  give  to  those  who  do  want.  And  oh,  Fritz  I 
how  well  we  shall  understand  h  )av  to  help  people  \vho  are 
pnor.     Do   you    think    thaf    is    why  God  lets   us   be   so 


,6  THB  aCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

poor  ourselves  so  long,  and  never  seems  to  hear  ova 
prayers  ?" 

"  It  Avould  be  pleasant  to  think  so,  Else,"  said  Fritz, 
gravely;  "but  t  is  very  difficult  to  understand  how  to 
please  God,  or  t  ow  to  make  our  prayers  reach  him  at  all— 
at  least  when  we  are  so  often  feeling  and  doing  wrong." 

It  cheered  me  to  see  that  Fritz  does  not  despair  of  the 
great  invention  succeeding  one  day.  He  did  not  tell  me 
what  his  own  plan  is. 

Does  Fritz  then  also  feel  so  sinful  and  so  perplexed  ho\Y" 
to  i^lease  God  ?  Perhaps  a  great  many  people  feel  the 
same.  It  is  very  strange.  If  it  had  only  })leased  God  to 
make  it  a  little  plainer !  I  wonder  if  that  book  Fva  lost 
would  tell  us  anything  ? 

After  that  evening  the  barrier  between  me  and  Fritz  was 
of  course  quite  gone,  and  we  seemed  closer  than  ever. 
We  had  delightful  twilight  talks  in  our  lumber-room,  and 
I  love  him  more  than  ever.  So  that  Aunt  Agnes  would, 
I  suppose,  think  me  more  of  an  idolater  than  before.  But 
It  is  very  strange  that  idolatry  should  seem  to  do  me  so 
much  good.  I  seem  t' .  love  all  the  Avorld  better  for  loving 
Fritz,  and  to  find  everything  easier  to  bear,  by  having  him 
to  unburden  everything  on,  so  that  I  liad  never  fewer  little 
sins  to  confess  than  during  the  two  weeks  Fritz  Avas  at 
home.  If  God  had  only  :nade  loving  brothers  and  sisters 
and  the  people  at  home  the  way  to  please  him,  instead  of 
lot  loving  them  too  much,  or  leaving  them  all  to  bury 
one's  self  in  a  cold  convent,  like  Aunt  Agnes ! 

Little  Eva  actually  persuaded  Fritz  to  begin  teachmg 
her  the  Latin  grammar !  I  suppose  she  wishes  tc  be  like 
her  beloved  St.  Catherine,  who  was  so  learned.  And  she 
says  all  the  holy  books,  the  prayers  and  the  hymns,  are  in 
Latin,  so  that  she  thinks  it  must  be  a  language  God  pai*- 
ticularly  loves.  She  asked  me  a  few  daye  since  if  thcj 
gpeak  Latin  in  heaven. 


FRIBDRICE'8  CHRONICLE.  TJ 

Of  course  I  could  not  tell.  I  told  her  I  believed  the 
Bible  was  originally  Avriilen  in  two  other  languages,  the 
lancTuages  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Jews,  and  that  I  had 
neard  st  me  one  say  Adam  and  Eve  spoke  the  Jews'  laii- 
guage  in  Paradise,  which  I  suppose  God  taught  them. 

But  I  haTe  been  thinking  over  it  since,  and  I  should  not 
H'or.der  if  Eva  is  right. 

Because,  unless  Latin  is  the  language  of  the  saints  and 

holy  angels  in  heaven,  why  should  God  wish  the  priests  to 

speak  it  everywhere,  and  the  people  to  say  the  Ave  and 

Paternoster  in  it  ?     We  should  understand  it  all  so  much 

better  in  German ;  but  of  course  Latin  is  tlie  language  of 

the  blessed  saints  and  angels,  that  is  a  reason  for  it.     If  tve 

o  not  always  understand,  theij  do,  which  is  a  great  com- 

ort.     Only  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  ]ilan  of  little  Eva's  to 

ry  and  learn  liatin ;  and  when  I  have  more  time  to  be 

eligious,  perhaps  I  may  try  also. 

EXTRACTS   FROM    FRIEDRICH'S   CHRONICLE. 

Erfurt,  1505. 

THE  Univei-sity  seems  rather  a  cold  world  after  the 
dear  old  home  at  Eisenach.  But  it  went  to  my 
heart  to  see  how  our  mother  and  Else  struggle  and  how 
worn  and  tliin  they  look.  Happily  for  them,  they  have 
gti^'  '"ope  in  the  great  invention,  and  I  Avould  not  take  it 
away  for  the  world.  But  meantime  I  must  at  once  do 
something  to  help.  I  can  sometimes  save  some  viands 
from  my  meals,  whicli  are  portioned  out  to  us  liberally,  on 
this  foundation,  and  sell  them.  And  I  can  occasionally 
earn  a  littl  by  copying  themes  for  the  richer  students,  or 
sermons,  and  postils  for  the  monks.  The  printing  press  has 
certainly  made  that  means  of  maintcsnance  more  precari- 
ous ;  but  printed  books  are  still  very  dear,  aiul  also  very 
large,  and  tlie  priests  are  often  glad  of  small  copies  of 


78  TEE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

fragments  of  the  postils,  or  orations  of  the  fathers,  written 
off  in  a  small,  clear  liand,  to  take  with  them  on  their  cir 
cuits  around  the  villages.  There  is  also  Avriting  to  be  done 
for  the  lawyers,  so  that  I  do  not  despair  of  earning  some- 
thing ;  and  if  my  studios  are  retarded  a  little,  it  does  not 
BO  much  matter.  It  is  not  for  me  to  aspire  to  great  things, 
unless  indeed  they  can  be  reached  by  small  and  patient 
Bteps.  I  have  a  Avork  to  do  for  the  family.  My  youth 
must  be  given  to  supporting  them  by  the  first  means  I  can 
find.  If  I  succeed,  perhaps  Christopher  or  Pollux  will 
have  leisure  to  aim  higher  than  I  can ;  or,  perhaps,  iji 
middle  or  later  life,  I  myself  shall  have  leisure  to  pursue 
the  studies  of  these  great  old  classics,  Avhich  seem  to  make 
the  horizon  of  our  thoughts  so  wide,  and  the  world  so 
glorious  and  large,  and  life  so  deep.  It  would  certainly 
be  a  great  delight  to  devote  one's  self,  as  Martin  Luther  is 
now  able  to  do,  to  literature  and  philosophy.  His  career 
is  opening  nobly.  This  spring  he  has  taken  his  degree  as 
Master  of  Arts,  and  he  has  been  lecturing  on  Aristotle's 
physics  and  logic.  He  has  great  power  of  making  dim 
things  clear,  and  old  things  fresh.  His  lectures  are  crowded. 
He  is  also  studying  law,  in  order  to  qualify  himself  for 
some  oflice  in  the  State.  His  parents  (judging  from  his 
father's  letters)  seem  to  centre  all  their  hopes  in  him ;  and 
it  is  almost  the  same  here  at  the  University.  Great  things 
are  expected  of  him ;  indeed  there  scarcely  seems  any 
career  that  is  not  open  to  him.  And  he  is  a  man  of  such 
heart,  as  well  as  intellect,  that  he  seems  to  make  all  the 
university  professors,  as  well  as  the  students,  look  on  hiiu 
as  a  kind  of  possession  of  their  own.  All  seem  to  feel  a 
property  in  his  success.  Just  as  it  was  with  our  little  circle 
at  Eisenach,  so  it  is  with  the  great  circle  at  the  University. 
He  is  our  Master  Martin ;  and  in  every  step  of  his  ascent 
we  ourselves  feel  a  little  higher.  I  wonder,  if  his  fame 
■hould  indeed  spread  as  we  anticipate,  if  it  will  be  th« 


FRIEDRIOH'S  CERONIGLE. 


79 


same  one  day  m  ith  all  Germany  ?  if  the  whole  laud  will  saj 
exnlliugly  by-and-by — our  Martin  Lnther  ? 

Not  that  he  "is  without  enemies  ;  liis  temper  is  hot  and 
his  heart  too  warm  for  that  negative  distinction  of  phleg- 
matic negative  natures. 

June,  1505. 

MAHTIN  LUTHER  came  to  me  a  few  days  since, 
looking  terribly  agitated.  His  friend  Alexius  has 
been  assassinated,  and  he  takes  it  exceedingly  to  heart; 
not  only,  I  think,  because  of  the  loss  of  one  he  loved,  but 
because  it  brings  death  so  terribly  near,  and  awakens  again 
those  questionings  which  I  know  are  in  the  depths  of  his 
heart,  as  well  as  of  mine,  about  God,  and  judgment,  and 
the  dark,  dread  future  before  us,  which  we  cannot  sol\  e, 
yet  cannot  escape  nor  forget. 

To-day  we  met  again,  and  he  was  full  of  a  book  he  had 
discovered  in  the  university  library,  Avhere  he  spends  most 
of  his  leisure  hours.  It  was  a  Latin  Bible,  which  he  had 
never  seen  before  in  his  life.  He  marvelled  greatly  to  see 
BO  much  more  in  it  than  in  the  Evangelia  read  in  the 
churches,  or  in  the  Collections  of  Homilies.  He  was  called 
away  to  lecture,  or,  he  said,  lie  could  have  read  on  for 
hours.  Especially  one  history  seems  to  have  impressed 
him  deeply.  It  was  in  the  Old  Testament.  It  was  the 
story  of  the  child  Samuel  and  his  mother  Hannah.  "  He 
rsad  it  quickly  through,"  he  said,  "  Avith  hearty  delight  and 
joy ;"  and  because  this  was  all  new  to  him,  he  began  to 
wish  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  God  would  one 
day  bestow  on  him  such  a  book  for  his  own. 

I  suppose  it  is  the  thought  of  his  own  pious  mother 
which  makes  this  history  interest  liim  so  peculiarly.  It  is 
mdeed  a  beautiful  history,  as  he  told  it  me,  and  makes  one 
almost  wish  one  had  been  born  in  the  times  of  tlie  old 
Hebrew  monarchy.     It  seemw  as  if  God  listened  so  gra 


8o  THE  SGIWNBEUGCOTTA  FAMILY. 

ciously  and  readily  then  to  that  poor  sorrowful  woman's 
prayers.  And  if  we  could  only,  each  of  us,  hear  that 
voice  from  heaven,  how  joyful  it  would  be  to  reply,  like 
that  blessed  child,  "  Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  servant  heareth  ;" 
and  then  to  learn,  without  possibiUty  of  mistake,  what 
God  really  requires  of  each  of  us.  I  suppose,  however, 
the  monks  do  feel  as  sure  of  their  vocation  as  the  holy 
child  of  old,  when  they  leave  home  and  the  woi'ld  fox  the 
service  of  the  Church.  It  Avould  be  a  great  help  if  other 
people  had  vocations  to  their  various  works  in  life,  like  the 
prophet  Samuel  and  (I  suppose)  the  monks,  that  we  might 
all  go  on  fearlessly,  with  a  firm  step,  each  in  his  appointed 
patli,  and  feel  sure  that  we  ai'e  doing  the  light  thing,  in- 
stead of  perhaps  drawing  down  judgments  on  those  we 
would  die  to  serve,  by  our  mistakes  and  sins.  It  can 
hardly  be  intended  that  all  men  should  be  monks  and  nuns. 
Would  to  heaven,  therefore,  that  laymen  had  also  their 
vocation,  instead  of  this  terrible  uncertainty  and  doubt 
that  will  shadow  the  heart  at  times,  that  we  may  havi 
missed  our  path  (as  I  did  that  night  in  the  snow-covered 
forest),  and,  like  Cain,  be  flying  from  the  presence  of  God, 
and  gathering  on  us  and  ours  his  curse. 

July  12,  1505. 

THERE  is  a  great  gloom  over  the  University.  The 
]i!ague  is  among  us.  Many  are  Ipng  dead  who,  only 
last  Aveek,  were  full  of  youth  and  hope.  Numbers  of  the 
professors,  masters  and  students,  have  flc«d  to  their  homes, 
or  to  various  villages  in  the  nearest  readies  of  the  Turin- 
gian  forest.  The  churches  are  thronged  at  all  the  services. 
The  priests  and  monks  (those  who  remain  in  the  infected 
city)  take  advantage  of  the  terror  the  presence  of  the  pes- 
tilence excites,  to  remind  people  of  the  more  awful  terrors 
of  that  dreadful  day  of  judgment  and  wrath  which  no  one 
will  be  able  to  flee-      Women,  and  sometimes  men,  aro 


FRTEDRICWS  CHRONICLE  g 

borne  fainting  from  the  churches,  and  often  fall  at  oiic€ 
nnder  the  infection,  and  never  are  seen  again.  Martin 
Luther  seems  much  troubled  in  mind.  This  epidemic,  fol 
lowing  so  close  on  the  assassination  of  his  friend,  seems  to 
overwhelm  him.  But  he  does  not  talk  of  leaving  the  city. 
Perhaps  the  terrors  which  weigh  most  on  him  are  those 
the  preachers  recall  so  vividly  to  us  just  now,  from  which 
there  is  no  flight  by  chnnge  of  j)lace,  but  only  by  change 
of  life.  During  this  last  week,  especially  since  he  was  ex- 
posed to  a  violent  thunder-storm  on  the  high  road  near 
Erfurt,  lie  has  seemed  strangely  altered.  A  deep  gl'^om 
is  on  his  face,  and  he  seems  to  avoid  his  old  friends.  I 
have  scarcely  spoken  to  him. 

July  14. 

TO-DAY,  to  ray  great  surprise,  Martin  has  invited  mo 
and  several  other  of  his  friends  to  meet  at  his  rooms 
on  the  day  after  to-morrow,  to  pass  a  social  evening  in 
Binging  and  feasting.  The  plague  has  abated ;  yet  I 
rather  wonder  at  any  one  thinking  of  merry-making  yet. 
They  say,  however,  that  a  merry  heart  is  the  best  safe- 
guard. 

July  17. 

THE  secret  of  Martin  Luther's  feast  is  open  now 
The  wdiole  University  is  in  consternation.  He  ha? 
lecided  on  becoming  a  monk.  Many  think  it  is  a  sudden 
imi)ulse;  which  may  yet  pass  away.  I  do  not.  I  believe 
it  is  the  result  of  the  conflicts  of  years,  and  that  he  has 
only  yielded,  in  thi.*  act,  to  convictions  which  have  been 
recurring  to  hin:  continually  during  all  his  brilliant  univer- 
sity career. 

Never  did  he  seem  more  animated  tlian  yesteiday  even, 
ing.  The  hours  flew  by  in  eager,  cheerful  conversation. 
A  NN  eight  set.nied  removed  from  us.     The  pestilence  w'ni 

4* 


S  X  THE  aCnONBEllO-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  Y. 

departing;  the  professors  and  students  were  returning, 
We  lelt  life  i-esumnig  ito  old  course,  and  ventured  once 
more  to  look  forward  with  hcpe.  Many  of  us  had  com- 
pleted our  academical  course,  and  Avere  already  entering 
the  larger  world  beyond — the  university  of  life.  Some  of 
us  had  appointments  already  promised  and  most  of  us  had 
hopes  of  great  things  in  the  future ;  the  less  definite  the 
prospects,  perhaps  the  most  brilliant.  Martin  Luther  did 
not  hazard  any  speculations  as  to  his  future  career ;  but 
that  surprised  none  of  us.  His  fortune,  Ave  said,  was  m- 
Bured  already ;  and  many  a  jesting  claim  Avas  put  in  for  his 
future  patronage,  Avhen  he  should  be  a  great  man. 

We  had  excellent  music  also,  as  always  at  any  social 
gathering  Avhere  Martin  Luther  is.  His  clear,  true  voice 
Avas  listened  to  Avith  applause  in  many  a  Avell-knoAvn  song, 
and  echoed  in  joyous  choruses  afterward  by  the  Avhple 
party.  So  the  evening  passed,  until  the  university  hour 
for  repose  had  nearly  arrived;  Avhen  suddenly,  in  the 
silence  after  the  last  note  of  the  last  chorus  had  died 
aAvay,  he  bid  us  all  farewell ;  for  on  the  morroAV,  he  said_ 
he  proposed  to  enter  the  Agustinian  monastery  as  a  novice ! 
At  first,  some  treated  this  as  a  jest ;  but  his  look  and  bear- 
ing soon  banished  that  idea.  Then  all  earnestly  endeav- 
oured to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose.  Some  spoke  of 
the  expectations  the  University  had  formed  of  him — others, 
of  the  career  in  the  world  open  to  him ;  but  at  all  this  he 
only  smiled.  When,  however,  one  of  us  reminded  him  of  his 
father,  and  the  disappointment  it  might  cause  in  his  home, 
I  noticed  that  a  change  came  over  his  face,  and  I  thought 
there  Avas  a  slight  quiver  on  his  lip.  But  all, — friendly  rfr 
mark,  calm  remonstrance,  fervent,  aftectionate  entreaties, — 
all  Avere  unavailing, 

"  To-day,"  he  said,  "  you  see  me ;  aiter  this,  you  will  see 
cue  no  more." 

Thus  Ave  separated.     But  this  morning,  when  some  of 


FRLEDRICWS  CHRONICLE.  83 

!H3  neareiL  friends  went  to  his  rooms  early,  with  the  faint 
Hope  of  yet  inducing  him  to  listen,  Mhile  we  pressed  3n 
him  the  thousand  unanswerable  arguments  which  had 
occurred  to  us  since  we  parted  from  him,  his  rooms  wei^e 
empty,  and  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  To  all  our  in 
quiries  we  received  no  reply  but  that  Master  Martin  had 
gone  that  mornmg,  before  it  was  light,  to  the  Augustinian 
cloister. 

Thither  we  followed  him,  and  knocked  loudly  at  the 
heavy  convent  gates.  After  some  minutes  they  were 
shghtly  opened,  and  a  sleepy  porter  appeared. 

"  Is  Martin  Luther  here  ?"  we  asked. 

"  He  is  here,"  was  the  rej)Iy ;  not,  we  thought,  without 
a  Uttle  triumph  in  the  tone. 

"  We  wish  to  speak  with  him,"  demanded  one  of  us. 

"No  one  is  to  speak  with  him,"  was  the  grim  rejoinder. 

"  Until  when  ?"  we  asked. 

There  was  a  little  whispering  inside,  and  then  came  the 
decisive  answer,  "  Not  for  a  month,  at  least." 

We  would  have  lingered  to  parley  further,  but  the  heavy 
nailed  doors  were  closed  against  us,  we  heard  the  massive 
bolts  rattle  as  they  were  drawn,  and  all  our  assaults  with 
fists  or  iron  staffs  on  the  convent  gates,  from  that  moment 
did  not  awaken  another  sound  within. 

"  Dead  to  the  world,  indeed  !"  murmured  one  at  length ; 
"  the  grave  could  not  be  more  silent." 

Baftied,  and  hoarse  Avith  shouting,  we  wandered  back 
again  to  IVIartin  Luther's  rooms.  The  old  familiar  rooms, 
where  we  had  so  lately  spent  hours  with  him  in  social  con- 
verse ;  wl>eie  I  and  many  of  us  had  spent  so  many  an 
hour  in  intimate,  aftectionate  intercourse, — his  presence 
would  be  there  no  more ;  and  the  unaltered  aspect  of  the 
mute,  inanimate  things  only  made  the  emptiness  and  change 
more  painful  by  the  contrast. 

And  yet,  when  we  began  to  examine  more  close  b  th(» 


84  TEE  8 CHONBERG-  UO TTA  FAMIL  T. 

aspect  of  many  things  was  changed.  His  flute  and  lute, 
indeed,  lay  on  the  table,  just  as  he  had  left  them  on  the 
previous  evening.  But  the  books — scholastic,  legal,  and 
classical — were  piled  up  carefully  in  one  corner,  and  directed 
to  the  booksellers.  In  looking  over  the  well-known  vol- 
umes, I  only  missed  two,  Virgil  and  Plautus ;  I  suppose 
he  took  these  with  him.  Whilst  we  were  looking  at  a 
parcel  neatly  rolled  up  in  another  place,  the  old  man  who 
kept  his  rooms  in  order  came  in,  and  said,  "  That  is  Master 
Martin's  master's  robe,  his  holiday  attire,  and  his  master's 
ring.  They  are  to  be  sent  to  his  parents  at  Mans 
feld." 

A  choking  sensation  came  over  me  as  I  thought  of  the 
father  who  had  struggled  so  hard  to  maintain  his  son,  and 
had  hoped  so  much  from  him,  receiving  that  packet.  Not 
from  the  dead.  Worse  than  from  the  dead,  it  seemed  to 
me.  Deliberately  self-entombed ;  deliberately  with  his  own 
hands  building  up  a  barrier  between  him  and  all  who  loved 
him  best.  With  the  dead,  if  they  are  happy,  we  may  hold 
communion — at  least  the  Creed  speaks  of  the  communion 
of  saints ;  we  may  pray  to  them ;  or,  at  the  worst,  we  may 
pray  for  them.  But  between  the  son  in  the  convent  and 
the  father  at  Mansfeld,  the  barrier  is  not  merely  one 
of  stone  and  earth.  It  is  of  the  impenetrable  iron  of  will 
and  conscience.  It  would  be  a  temptation  now  for  Martin 
Luther  to  pour  out  his  heart  in  affectionate  words  to  father, 
mother,  or  friend. 

And  yet,  if  he  is  right, — if  the  flesh  is  only  to  be  sub- 
dued, if  God  is  only  to  be  pleased,  if  heaven  is  only  to  bf 
won  in  this  way, — it  is  of  little  moment  indeed  what  the 
sufi*ering  may  be  to  us  or  any  belonging  to  iis,  in  this  fleet- 
ing life,  down  which  the  grim  gates  of  death  which  close 
it,  pver  cast  their  long  shadow. 

May  not  Martin  serve  his  family  better  in  the  cloister 
than  at  the  emperor's  court,  for  is  not  the  cloister  the  cour- 


FEIEDRICW8  CHROmCLE.  gj 

of  a  palaco  more  imperial  ? — we  may  say,  the  very  audi 
*»nce-cbambi;r  of  the  King  of  kings.  Besides,  if  he  had  a 
vocation,  wliat  curse  might  not  follow  despising  it  ?  Happy 
for  those  whose  A'ocation  is  so  clear  that  they  dare  not  dis- 
obey it ;  or  whose  hearts  are  so  pure  that  they  would  not 
if  they  dared! 

July  19. 

THESE  two  days  the  University  has  been  in  a  ferment 
at  the  disappearance  of  Martin  Luther.  Many  are 
indignant  with  him,  and  more  with  the  monks,  who,  they 
say,  have  taken  advantage  of  a  fervent  impulse,  and  drawn 
him  into  their  net.  Some,  however,  especially  those  of  the 
school  of  Mutianus — the  Humanists — laugh,  and  say  there 
are  ways  through  the  cloister  to  the  court, — and  even  to 
the  tiara.  But  those  misunderstand  Martin.  We  who 
know  him  are  only  too  sure  that  he  Avill  be  a  true  monk 
and  that  for  him  there  is  no  gate  from  the  cloister  to  th» 
world. 

It  appears  now  that  he  had  been  meditating  this  step 
more  than  a  fortnight. 

On  the  fii'st  of  this  month  (July)  he  was  walking  on  the 
road  between  Erfurt  and  Stotterheim,  when  a  thunder 
storm,  which  had  been  gathering  over  the  Thuringian  for 
est,  and  weighing  with  heavy  silence  on  the  plague-ladeu 
air,  suddenly  burst  over  his  head.  He  was  alone,  and  far 
from  shelter.  Peal  followed  peal,  succeeded  by  terrible 
silences;  the  forked  lightening  danced  wildly  around  him 
until  at  length  one  terrific  Hash  tore  up  the  ground  at  his 
feet,  and  nearly  stunned  him.  He  was  alone,  and  far  from 
shelter;  he  felt  his  soul  alone  and  unsheltered.  The  thunder 
seemed  to  him  the  angry  voice  of  an  irresistible,  offended 
God.  The  next  flash  might  wither  his  body  to  ashes,  and 
»mite  his  soul  into  the  flames  it  so  terribly  recalled ;  and 
ihe  next  thunder-peal  which  followed  migtit  echo  like  the 


86  THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

trum])et  of  doom  over  him  lying  unconscious,  deaf,  and 
mute  in  death.  Unconscious  and  silent  as  to  his  body 
but  who  could  imagine  to  what  terrible  intensity  of  con- 
scious, everlasting  anguish  his  soul  might  have  awakened ; 
what  wailings  might  echo  around  his  lost  spirit,  what  criea 
of  unavailing  entreaty  he  might  be  pouring  forth !  Uu 
vailing  then !  not  j^erhaps  wholly  uwavailmg  now !  He 
fell  on  his  knees, — he  prostrated  himself  on  the  earth,  and 
cried  in  his  anguish  and  terror,  "  Help,  beloved  St.  Anne, 
and  I  will  straightway  become  a  monk." 

The  storm  rolled  slowly  away;  but  the  irrevocable 
words  had  been  spoken,  and  the  peals  of  thunder,  as  they 
rumbled  more  and  more  faintly  in  the  distance,  echoed  on 
bis  heart  like  the  dirge  of  all  his  worldly  life. 

He  reached  Erfurt  in  safety,  and,  distrustful  of  his  ov/n 
steadfastness,  breathed  nothing  of  his  purpose  excejjt  to 
those  who  would,  he  thought,  sustain  him  in  it.  This  was 
no  doubt  the  cause  of  his  absent  and  estranged  looks,  and 
of  his  avoiding  us  during  that  fortnight. 

Pie  confided  his  intention  first  to  Andrew  Stafielstein, 
the  rector  of  the  University,  who  applauded  and  encour- 
aged him,  and  took  him  at  once  to  the  new  Franciscan 
cloister.  The  monks  received  him  with  delight,  and  urged  . 
his  immediately  joining  their  order.  He  told  them  he  must 
first  acquaint  his  father  of  his  purpose,  as  an  act  of  confi- 
dence only  due  to  a  parent  who  had  denied  himself  so 
much  and  toiled  so  hard  to  maintain  his  son  liberally  at 
the  University.  But  the  rector  and  the  monks  rejoined 
that  he  must  not  ©onsult  with  flesh  and  blood;  he  must 
forsake  father  and  mother,  and  steal  away  to  the  cross  of 
Christ.  "  Whoso  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough  and  look« 
eth  back,"  said  they,  "  is  not  worthy  of  the  kingdom  of 
God."  To  remain  in  the  world  was  peril.  To  return  t(\ 
it  was  perdition. 

A  few  religious  women  tc  whom  the  j*ecbor  mentioned 


FRIEDRICirS  GRUOmOLE.  g^ 

Mai  tin's  intentions,  confirmed  liim  in  them  with  fervent 
wortls  of  admiration  and  encouragement. 

Did  not  one  of  them  relent,  and  take  pity  on  his  mother 
and  liis  fatlier?  And  yet,  I  doubt  if  Martin's  mother 
would  have  interposed  one  word  of  remonstrance  between 
bim  and  the  cloister.  She  is  a  very  religious  woman.  To 
offer  her  son,  her  pride,  to  God,  would  have  been  offering 
the  dearest  j^art  of  herself;  and  women  have  a  strength  \v 
eelf-sacrifice,  and  a  mysterious  joy,  which  I  feel  no  doubt 
would  have  carried  her  through. 

With  Martin's  father  it  would  no  doubt  have  been  differ- 
ent. He  has  not  a  good  opinion  of  the  monks,  and  he  has 
a  very  strong  sense  of  paternal  and  filial  duty.  He,  the 
shrewd,  hard-working,  successful  peasant,  looks  on  the 
monks  as  a  company  of  drones,  "vvho,  in  imagining  they 
are  giving  up  the  delights  of  the  world,  are  often  only 
giving  up  its  duties.  He  was  content  to  go  through  any  self- 
denial  and  toil  that  Martin,  the  pride  of  the  whole  family, 
might  have  room  to  develoj)  his  abilities.  But  to  have  the 
fruit  of  all  his  counsel,  and  care,  and  work  buried  in  a  con- 
vent, will  be  very  bitter  to  him.  It  was  terrible  advice  for 
the  rector  to  give  a  son.  And  yet,  no  doubt,  God  has  the 
first  claim ;  and  to  expose  Martin  to  any  influence  which 
might  have  induced  him  to  give  up  his  vocation,  would 
have  been  perilous  indeed.  No  doubt  the  conflict  in  Mar- 
tin's heart  was  severe  enough  as  it  Avas.  His  nature  is  so 
aftectionate,  his  sense  of  filial  duty  so  strong,  and  his 
honour  and  love  for  his  parents  so  deep.  Since  the  step  is 
taken,  Holy  Mary  aid  him  not  to  draw  back ! 

Decemler,  1505. 

'^I^HIS  morning  I  saw  a  sight  I  never  thought  to  have 

3l      seen.     A  monk,  in  the  grey  frock  and  cowl  of  the 

AiiguSbHiians,  was  pacing  slowly  through  the  streets  witli 

a  heav;y  ts.ick  v.t.  bis  shoulders.     The  groimd  was  covered 


88  THE  8GH6m>ERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

(vith  snow,  his  feet  were  bare;  but  it  was  no  nnfrequent 
.gilt;  and  I  was  idly  and  half-unconseionsly  watching  him 
.ause  at  door  after  door,  and,  humbly  receiving  any  con- 
'.ributions  that  Avere  oftered,  stow  theni  away  in  the  con^ 
vent-sack,  when  at  length  he  stopped  at  the  door  of  the 
feonse  I  was  in,  and  then,  as  his  face  turned  up  towards  tho 
lyindow  where  I  stood,  1  caught  the  eye  of  Martin  Luther! 

I  hurried  to  the  door  with  a  loaf  in  nay  hand,  and,  bo- 
fore  offering  it  to  him,  would  have  embraced  him  as  of 
old ;  but  he  bowed  low  as  he  received  the  bread,  unti]  hia 
forehead  nearly  touched  the  ground,  and,  murmuriiig  a 
Latin  "  Gratias,"  would  have  passed  on. 

"  Martin,"  I  said,  "  do  you  not  know  me  ?" 

"  I  am  on  the  service  of  the  convent,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
against  the  rules  to  converse  or  to  linger." 

It  was  hard  to  let  him  go  without  another  word. 

"  God  and  the  sainlo  help  thee.  Brother  Martin !"  I 
said. 

He  half  turned,  crossed  himself,  bowed  low  once  more, 
as  a  maid-servant  threw  him  some  broken  meat,  said 
meekly,  "  God  be  praised  for  every  gift  he  bestoweth," 
and  went  on  his  toilsome  quest  for  alms  with  stooping 
form  and  downcast  eyes.  But  how  changed  his  face  was ! 
Tho  flush  of  youth  and  health  quite  faded  from  the  thin, 
hollow  cheeks ;  the  fire  of  wit  and  fancy  all  dimmed, 
in  the  red,  sunken  eyes  !  Fire  there  is  indeed  in  them  still, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  of  the  kind  that  consumes — not  that 
warms  and  cheers. 

They  are  surely  harsh  to  him  at  the  convent.  To  send 
him  who  Avas  the  pride  and  ornament  of  the  University 
not  six  months  ago,  begging  from  door  to  door,  at  the 
houses  of  friends  and  pupils,  with  whom  he  may  not  even 
exchange  a  greeting !  Is  there  no  pleasure  to  the  obscure 
and  ignorant  monks  in  thus  humbling  one  who  was  so 
latelv  so  far  above  them?     The  hands  which  wield  such 


FRIEBRICW8  CHRONICLE.  89 

rods  need  to  be  guided  by  lieavts  that  are  A-ery  iK/ble  or 
very  tender.  Nevertheless,  I  have  no  doubt  that  Brother 
Martin  inflicts  severer  discipline  on  himself  than  any  that 
can  be  laid  on  him  from  without.  It  is  no  external  con- 
flict that  has  thus  worn  and  bowed  him  down  in  less  than 
half  a  year. 

I  fear  he  will  impose  some  severe  mortification  on  him- 
self for  having  spoken  those  few  Avords  to  which  I  tempted 
him. 

But  if  it  is  his  vocation,  and  if  it  is  for  heaven,  and  if  ho 
is  thereby  earning  merits  to  bestow  on  others,  any  conflict 
could  no  doubt  be  endured. 

July,  1506. 

BROTHER  MARTIN'S  novitiate  has  expired,  and  ha 
has  taken  the  name  of  Augustine,  but  we  shall 
scarcely  learn  to  call  him  by  it.  Several  of  us  were  pre- 
sent a  few  days  since  at  his  taking  the  final  vows  in  the 
Augustinian  Church.  Once  more  we  heard  the  clear, 
pleasant  voice  which  most  of  us  had  heard,  in  song  and 
animated  conversation,  on  that  farewell  evening.  It 
sounded  weak  and  thin,  no  doubt  with  fasting.  The  garb 
of  the  novice  was  laid  aside,  the  monk's  frock  was  put  on, 
and  kneeling  below  the  altar  steps,  with  the  prior's  hands 
on  his  bowed  head,  he  took  the  vow  in  Latin : — . 

"  I,  Brother  Martin,  do  make  profession  and  promise 
obedience  unto  Almighty  God,  unto  Mary,  ever  virgin,  and 
unto  thee,  my  brother,  prior  of  this  cloister,  in  the  name 
and  in  the  stead  of  the  general  prior  of  the  order  of  the 
Eremites  of  St.  Augustine,  the  bishop  and  his  regular  suc- 
cessors, to  live  in  poverty  and  chastity  after  the  rule  of  the 
said  St.  i^i;gustine  until  death." 

Then  the  burning  taper,  symbol  of  the  lighted  and  ever- 
vigilant  heart,  was  placed  in  his  hand.  The  prior  mur 
mured  a  prayer  over  him,  and  instantly  from  the  whole  of 
the  monks  burst  the  hymn  "  Veni  Sancte  Spiritua" 


yc)  TEE  8CU0NBERO-<^0TT A  FAMILY. 

II(  l<iit^lt  whi-Je  they  were  singing;  and  then  the  monks 
k'ti  him  np  the  steps  into  the  choir,  and  welcomed  htm  with 
the  kiss  of  brotherliood. 

Witliin  the  screen,  Avithin  the  choir,  among  the  holy 
brotherhood  inside,  whj  minister  before  the  altar !  And 
we,  his  old  friends,  loft  '^utside  in  the  nave,  separated  from 
him  for  ever  by  the  screen  of  that  irrevocable  vow ! 

For  ever !  Is  it  for  ever  ?  Will  there  indeed  be  such  a 
veil,  an  impenetrable  b:irrier,  between  us  and  him  at  the 
judgment-day  ?  And  we  outside  ?  A  barrier  impassable 
for  ever  then,  but  not  now,  not  yet ! 

January,  1507. 

HAVE  just  returned  from  another  Christmas  at  home. 

Things  look  a  little  brighter  there.  This  last  year, 
since  I  took  my  master's  degree,  I  have  been  able  to  helji 
them  a  little  more  eftectually  with  the  money  I  receive 
from  my  pupils.  It  was  a  delight  to  take  our  dear,  self- 
denying,  loving  Else  a  new  dress  for  holidays,  although 
she  protested  her  old  crimson  petticoat  and  black  jacket 
were  as  good  as  ever.  The  child  Eva  has  still  that  deep, 
calm,  earnest  look  in  he  eyes,  as  if  she  saw  into  the  world 
of  things  unseen  and  eternal,  and  saw  there  what  filled  her 
lieart  with  joy.  I  sui)pose  it  is  that  angelic  depth  of  her 
eyes,  in  contrast  with  tVc  guileless,  rosy  smile  of  the  child 
like  lips,  which  gives  the  strange  charm  to  her  face,  and 
makes  one  think  of  the  pictures  of  the  child-angels. 

She  can  read  the  Church  Latin  now  easily,  and  delightts 
especially  in  the  old  hymns.  When  she  repeats  them  in 
that  soft,  reverent,  childisli  voice,  they  seem  to  me  deeper 
and  more  sacred  than  Avben  sung  by  the  fullest  choir.  Her 
gieat  favorite  is  St.  Bernard's  "Jesu  Dulcis  Menioria,'' 
and  his  "  Salve  Caput  Cruentatum  ;  "  but  some  verses  of 
th(s  "  Dies  Irre  "  also  arc  very  often  on  lier  lips.  I  used  tc 
hear  hor  -vY^rbling  softly  about  the  house,  or  at  her  work. 


FRIEDBICH'S  CHRONICLE. 


9> 


udth  a  voice  like  a  happy  dove  hidden  in  the  depths  of 
wme  quiet  wood^ — 

"  Querens  me  sedisti  lassus," 

"  Jesu  mi  dulcissime,  Domine  ccelorum, 
Conditor  omnipotent,  liex  universorum; 
Quia  jam  actus  sufficit  mirari  gestorum. 
Quae  te  ferre  conipulit  salus  miserorum. 

"  Te  de  coeli  caritas  traxit  animarum, 
Pro  quibus  palatium  deserens  pr£eclarum; 
Miseram  ingrediens  vallem  lacrymarum, 
Opus  durum  suscipis,  et  iter  amarum."* 

The  sonorous  words  of  the  ancient  imperial  language 
r.ound  so  sweet  and  strange,  and  yet  so  familiar  from  the 
fresh  childish  voice.  Latin  seems  from  her  lips  no  more  a 
dead  language.  It  ri  as  if  she  had  learned  it  naturally  in 
infancy  from  listo£/;ng  to  tlie  songs  of  the  angels  Avho 
watched  her  in  /i^r  sleep,  or  from  the  lips  of  a  sainted 
mother  bending  ovor  }ier  pillow  from  heaven. 

One  tliio.g.,  ho\r«.Yer,  seems  to  disappoint  little  Eva.  She 
has  a  se/itftnc3  t?>/en  from  a  book  her  father  left  her  before 
he  died,  hut  vv^'/ch  she  Avas  never  allowed  to  see  after- 
wards. She  ;.s  always  hoping  to  find  the  book  in  which 
this  seocence  was,  and  has  not  yet  succeeded. 

I-  have  htvle  doubt  myself  that  the  book  was  soiae 
heretic.'jl  volume  belonging  to  her  father,  who  was  exe* 
f^fid  for  bfing  a  Hussite.     It  is  to  be  hoped,  therelu''''e 

'  Jesu,  Sovereign  Lord  of  lieaven,  sweetest  Friend  to  nie, 
King  of  all  the  universe  all  was  made  by  thee; 
Who  can  know  or  comj  rehend  the  wonders  thou  hast  wroi  ght, 
Bit/ce  the  saving  of  the  lost  thee  so  low  hath  brought? 

"  Tbeo  the  love  of  souls  drew  down  from  beyond  the  sky, — 
Orow  thee  from  thy  glorious  home,  thy  palace  bright  and  high  I 
I'o  this  narrow  vale  of  tears  thou  thy  footsteps  bendest; 
QatA  the  work  thou  Uik'st  on  thee,  roui^b  the  way  thou  wenddtt" 


92  THE  8CH0NBER0-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

Bhe  will  never  find  it.  Slio  did  not  tell  me  this  heiselfj 
probably  because  Else,  to  wlioni  she  mentior.ed  it,  diS' 
couraged  her  in  such  a  search.  We  all  feel  it  is  a  great 
blessing  to  have  rescued  that  innocent  heart  from  tha 
snares  of  those  iJcrnicious  heretics,  against  whom  our 
Saxon  nation  made  such  a  noble  struggle.  There  are  not 
very  many  of  the  Hussites  left  now  in  Bohemia.  As  a 
national  party  they  are  indeed  destroyed,  since  the  Calix- 
tnies  separated  from  them.  There  are,  however,  still  a  few 
dragging  out  a  miserable  existence  among  the  forests  and 
mountains  ;  and  it  is  reported  that  these  opinions  have  not 
yet  even  been  quite  crushed  in  the  cities,  in  spite  of  the 
vigorous  measures  used  against  them,  but  that  not  a  few 
secretly  cling  to  their  tenets,  although  outwardly  conform- 
ing to  the  Church.  So  inveterate  is  the  poison  of  heresy, 
and  so  great  the  danger  from  which  little  Eva  has  been 
rescued. 

Erfurt,  May  2,  1507. 
<  0-DAY  once  more  tlie  seclusion  and  silence  which 
have  enveloped  Martin  Luther  since  he  entered  the 
cloister  have  been  broken.  This  day  he  has  been  conse- 
crated prieat,  and  has  celebrated  his  first  mass.  There  was 
a  great  feast  at  the  Augustinian  convent ;  offerings  poured 
in  abundance  into  the  convent  treasury,  and  Martin's 
father,  John  Luther,  came  from  Mansfeld  to  be  present  at 
the  ceremony.  He  is  reconciled  at  last  to  his  son  (whom 
for  a  long  time  he  refused  to  see),  although  not,  I  believe, 
to  his  monastic  profession.  It  is  certainly  no  willmg  sacri- 
fice on  the  father's  part.  And  no  wonder.  After  toiling 
fiu"  years  to  place  his  favorite  son  in  a  position  where  his 
■yreat  abilities  might  have  scope,  it  must  have  been  hard  to 
see  everything  thrown  away  just  as  success  was  attained, 
for  what  seemed  to  him  a  wilful,  superstitious  fancy.  And 
without  a  word  of  dutiful  consultation  to  prepare  him  fo; 
the  blowl 


J'RIEDRIUWS  CHRONICLE.  93 

Having,  however,  at  last  made  up  bis  mind  to  forgive 
ais  son,  lie  forgave  him  like  a  fatlier,  and  came  in  pomp 
with  precious  gifts  to  do  him  honor.  He  rode  to  the  con- 
vent gate  with  an  escort  of  twenty  horsemen,  and  gave  his 
«on  a  present  of  twenty  ilorins. 

Brother  Martin  Avas  so  cheered  by  the  reconciliation, 
that  at  the  ordination  feast  he  ventured  to  try  to  obtain 
from  his  father  not  only  pardon,  but  sanction  and  approval. 
It  was  of  the  deepest  interest  to  me  to  hear  his  familiar 
eloquent  voice  again,  pleading  for  his  father's  approval. 
But  he  failed.  In  vain  he  stated  in  his  own  fervent  words 
the  motives  that  had  led  to  his  vow ;  in  vain  did  the  monks 
aroutid  support  and  applaud  all  he  said.  The  old  man  was 
not  to  be  moved. 

"  Dear  father,"  said  Martin,  "  Avhat  was  the  reason  of 
thy  objecting  to  my  choice  to  become  a  monk?  Why 
wert  thou  then  so  displeased,  and  perhaps  art  not  recon- 
ciled yet  ?     It  \n  such  a  peaceful  and  godly  life  to  live." 

I  cannot  say  that  Brother  Martin's  Avorn  and  furrowed 
face  spoke  much  for  the  peacefulness  of  his  hfe  ;  but  Master 
John  Luther  boldly  replied  in  a  voice  that  all  at  the  table 
might  hear, — 

"  Didst  thou  never  hear  that  a  son  must  be  obedient  to 
nis  parents  ?  And,  you  learned  men,  did  you  never  read 
the  ScripUires,  'Thou  shalt  honour  thy  father  and  thy 
mother  ?  '  God  grant  that  those  signs  you  speak  of  may 
not  prove  to  be  lying  wonders  of  Satan." 

Brother  JNIartin  attempted  no  defence.  A  look  of  s»arp 
[tain  came  over  his  face,  as  if  an  arrow  had  pierced  hia 
heart ;  but  he  remained  quite  silent. 

Yel  he  is  a  priest ;  he  is  endued  with  a  power  never 
committed  even  to  the  holy  angels  —  to  transubstantiato 
bread  into  God — to  sacrifice  for  the  living  and  the  dead. 

He  is  admitted  into  the  inner  circle  of  the  court,  of 
heaven. 


94  THE  SVHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

lie  is  on  board  that  sacred  ark  which  once  he  saw  pop 
trayed  at  Magdeburg,  where  priests  and  monks  .ail  safel) 
amidst  a  droAvning  world.  And  what  is  more,  ho-  himself 
may,  from  his  safe  and  sacred  vessel,  stoop  down  anc 
rescue  jierishing  men  ;  perhaps  confer  unspeakable  bless 
ings  on  the  soul  of  that  very  father  whose  words  so 
wounded  him. 

For  such  ends  well  may  he  bear  that  the  arrow  should 
pierce  his  heart.  Did  not  a  sword  pierce  thine,  O  mo  irn- 
ful  Mother  of  consolations  ? 

And  he  is  certain  of  his  vocation.  He  does  not  think  as 
we  in  the  world  so  often  must,  "  Is  God  leading  me,  or  the 
devil  ?  Am  I  resisting  his  higher  calling  in  only  obeying 
the  humbler  call  of  everyday  duty  ?  Am  I  bringing  down 
blessings  on  those  I  love,  or  curses  ?  " 

Brother  Martin,  A\ithout  question,  has  none  of  these  dis- 
tracting doubts.  lie  may  well  bear  any  other  anguish 
which  may  meet  him  in  the  ways  of  God,  and  because  he 
has  chosen  them.  At  least  he  has  not  to  listen  to  such  tales 
as  I  have  heard  lately  from  a  young  knight,  Ulrich  von 
Hutten,  who  is  studying  here  at  present,  and  has  things  to 
relate  of  the  monks,  priests,  and  bishops  in  Rome  itSdif 
which  tempt  one  to  think  all  invisible  things  a  delaftioa^ 
and  all  religion  a  pretence. 


V. 


ELSE'S  chro;micle. 


ErsEXACH,  January,  1510, 
E  have  j^assed  tlirough  a  terriljle  time;   if,  ia 
deed,  we  are  throuj^h  it ! 

Tlie  plague  has  been  at  Eisenach  ;  and,  alas ! 
is  here  still. 

Fritz  came  home  to  ns  as  usual  at  Cliristmas.  Just  be 
fore  he  left  Erfurt  the  plague  had  broken  out  in  the  Uni- 
versity. But  he  did  not  know  it.  When  first  he  came  to 
us  he  seemed  quite  well,  and  WPS  full  of  spirits,  but  on 
the  second  day  he  complained  of  cold  and  shivering,  with 
pain  in  the  head,  which  increased  towards  the  evening. 
Ills  eyes  then  began  to  have  a  ^xed,  dim  look,  and  he 
seemed  unable  to  speak  or  think  i<j'i\^  connectedly. 

I  noticed  that  the  mother  watcaed  him  anxiously  that 
evening,  and  at  its  close,  feeling  his  hands  feverish,  she 
said  very  quietly  that  she  should  sit  up  in  his  room  thai; 
night.  At  first  he  made  some  resistance,  but  he  seemed 
too  faint  to  insist  on  anything ;  and,  as  he  rose  to  go  to 
bed,  he  tottered  a  little,  and  said  he  felt  giddy,  so  that  my 
motlier  drew  his  arm  within  hers  and  supported  him  to  hia 


Still  I  did  not  feel  anxious ;  but  when  Eva  and  I.  reached 

(W) 


y6  TEE  SCnONBEROCOTTA  FAMILT. 

our  iDom,  she  said,  in  that  quiet,  convincing  manner  whicto 
she  had  even  as  a  cliild,  fixing  her  large  eyes  on  mine, — 

"  Cousin  Else,  Fritz  is  very  ill." 

"  I  think  not,  Eva,"  I  said ;  "  and  no  one  would  It'eeJ 
anxious  about  him  as  soon  as  I  should.  He  caught  a  chill 
on  his  way  from  Erfurt.  You  know  it  was  late  when  h' 
arrived,  and  snowing  fast,  and  he  was  so  pleased  to  see  :ia^ 
and  so  eager  in  conversation  that  he  would  not  chiiige  his 
things.  It  is  only  a  slight  feverish  cold.  Besides,  our 
mother's  manner  was  so  calm  when  she  wished  us  good 
night.  I  do  not  think  she  is  anxious.  She  is  only  sitting 
up  with  him  for  an  hour  or  two  to  see  that  he  sleeps." 

"  Cousin  Else,"  replied  Eva,  "  did  you  not  see  the 
mother's  lip  quiver  when  she  turned  to  wish  us  good 
night?" 

"  No,  Eva,"  said  I ;  "  I  was  looking  at  Fritz." 

And  so  we  went  to  bed.  But  I  thought  it  strange  that 
Eva,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  should  be  more  anxious  than  I  was, 
and  I  his  sister.  Hope  is  generally  so  strong,  and  fear  so 
weak,  before  one  has  seen  many  fears  realized,  and  many 
hopes  disappointed.  Eva,  however,  had  always  a  way  of 
seeing  into  the  truth  of  things.  I  was  very  tired  with 
the  day's  work  (for  I  ahvays  rise  earlier  than  usual  when 
Fritz  is  here,  to  get  everything  done  before  he  is  about), 
*nd  I  must  very  soon  have  fallen  asleep.  It  was  not  mid- 
night when  I  was  roused  by  the  mother's  touch  upon  my 
arm. 

The  light  of  the  lamp  she  held  showed  me  a  paleness  in 
ber  face  and  an  alarm  in  her  eyes  which  awoke  me  thor- 
oughly in  an  instant. 

"Else,"  she  said,  "go  into  the  boys'  room  and  send 
Christopher  for  a  physician.  I  cannot  leave  Fritz.  But 
do  not  alarm  youi-  fatlier,"  she  added,  as  she  crept  again 
out  of  the  room  after  lighting  our  lamp. 

I  called  Christophc  and  in  five  minutes  he  was  dressed 


ELSE'S  GUFi-ONICLE. 


9" 


4dd  out  of  the  house.  When  I  returned  to  oni  room  Eva 
was  sitting  dressed  on  the  bed.  She  had  not  been  asleep, 
I  saw.  I  think  she  had  been  praying,  for  she  held  the 
•jrucifix  in  her  clasped  hands,  and  there  were  traces  of 
tears  on  her  cheek,  although,  when  she  raised  her  eyes  tc 
ne,  they  were  clear  and  tearless. 

"  Wliat  is  it,  cousin  Else  ?  "  she  said.  "  When  I  went 
for  a  moment  to  the  door  of  his  room  he  was  talking.  It 
was  his  voice,  but  with  such  a  strange,  wild  tone  in  it.  T 
Ihink  he  heard  my  step,  although  I  thought  no  one  would, 
I  stepped  so  softly,  for  he  called  '  Kxa,  Eva ! '  but  the 
mother  came  to  the  door  and  silently  motioned  me  away. 
But  you  may  go,  Else,"  she  added,  with  a  passionate  rapid 
ity  very  unusual  with  her.     "  Go  and  see  him." 

I  Avent  instantly.  He  was  talking  very  rapidly  and  ve 
hemently,  and  in  an  incoherent  way  it  Avas  difficult  to 
understand.  My  mother  sat  quite  still,  holding  his  hand. 
His  eyes  were  not  bright  as  in  fe^er,  but  dim  and  fixed. 
Yet  be  Avas  in  a  raging  fever.  His  hand,  Avhen  I  touched 
it,  burned  like  fire,  and  his  face  wat  flushed  like  crimson. 
I  stood  there  quite  silently  beside  my  mother  mi  til  the 
physician  came.  At  first  Fritz's  eyes  followed  me;  then 
they  seemed  watching  the  door  for  some  one  else ;  but  in 
a  few  minutes  the  dull  vacancy  came  over  them  again,  and 
ho  seemed  conscious  of  nothing. 

At  last  the  physician  came.  He  paused  a  moment  at 
tlie  door,  and  held  a  bag  of  myrrh  before  him ;  then  ad- 
vancing to  the  bed,  he  drew  aside  the  clothes  and  looked 
,\t  Fritz's  arm. 

"•  Too  plain !  "  he  exclaimed,  startmg  back  as  be  pei^ 
ecived  a  black  swelling  there.     "  It  is  the  plague !  " 

My  mother  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"  Excuse  me,  madam,"  he  sjiid,  "  life  is  precious,  and  I 
might  carry  the  infection  into  the  city." 

"Can  nothing  be  done?"  she  said. 
b 


,;8  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY 

'VNot  much,"  lie  said  bluntly;  and  then,  after  a  mo 
mont's  hesitation,  tonclied  by  the  distress  m  her  face,  ha 
returned  to  the  bedside.  "I  have  touched  him,"  he  mur- 
mured, as  if  apologizing  to  himself  for  incurring  the  risk* 
''  the  mischief  is  done,  doubtless,  already."  And  takir.g 
ont  his  lancet,  lie  bled  my  brother's  arm. 

Then,  after  binding  up  the  arm,  he  turned  to  me  and 
«aid,  "  Get  cypress  and  juniper  wood,  and  burn  them  in  a 
Vn-azier  in  this  room,  with  rosin  and  myrrli.  Keep  your 
brother  as  warm  as  possible — do  not  let  in  a  breath  of  air  ;" 
and  he  added,  as  I  followed  him  to  the  door,  "  on  no  ac- 
count sutler  him  to  sleep  for  a  moment,  and  let  no  oiie 
come  near  him  but  you  and  your  mother." 

When  I  returned  to  the  bedside,  after  obeying  these 
vlirections,  Fritz's  mind  was  wandering ;  and  although  we 
could  understand  little  that  lie  said,  he  was  evidently  in 
great  distress.  He  seemed  to  have  comprehended  the 
physician's  words,  for  he  frequently  repeated,  "  The 
plague !  the  plague !  I  have  brought  a  curse  upon  my 
house !  "  and  then  he  would  wander,  strangely  calling  upon 
I\[artin  Luther  and  Eva  to  intercede  and  obtain  pardon  for 
him,  as  if  he  was  invoking  saints  in  heaven ;  and  occasion 
ally  he  would  repeat  fragments  of  I  atin  hynms. 

It  was  dreadful  to  have  to  keep  him  awake ;  to  have  tc 
rouse  him,  whenever  he  showed  the  least  symptom  of 
slumber,  to  thoughts  which  so  pei'plexed  and  troubled  his 
^>oor  brain.  But  on  the  second  night  the  mother  fainted 
away,  and  I  had  to  carry  her  to  cor  room.  Her  dear  thin 
frame  was  no  heavy  weight  to  bear.  I  laid  her  on  the  bed 
in  our  room,  which  was  the  nearest.  Eva  appeared  at  the 
door  as  I  stood  beside  our  mother.  Her  face  was  as  pale 
fts  death.  Before  I  could  prevent  it,  she  came  up  to  me, 
^nd  taking  my  hands  said, — 

•  Louoiii    f».i»»«s,  only  promise  me  one  thing; — if  he  is  to 
\u\.  ui»  •«*  (lira  ouoe  tpotb." 


ELBE'S  CEROmCLE. 


^ 


"  I  dare  not  promise  anything.  E^'a,"  1  said  ;  "  ooESuler 
the  infection ! '' 

"  What  Avili  the  infection  matter  to  me  if  he  dies?  "  8h» 
said ;  "  I  am  not  afraid  to  dio." 

"  Think  of  tlie  fother  and  the  children,  Eva,"  I  said  )  "  if 
our  mother  and  I  should  be  seized  next,  what  would  titoy 
do  ?" 

"  Cliriernhild  Avill  soon  bo  eld  enough  to  take  caro  of 
them,"  she  said  very  calmly,  "promise  me,  promise  lae, 
Else,  or  I  will  see  him  at  once." 

And  I  promised  her,  and  sb-3  threw  her  arms  around  me, 
and  kissed  me.  Then  I  went  back  to  Fritz,  leaving  Eva 
chafing  my  mother's  hands.  It  was  of  no  avail,  I  thought, 
to  try  to  keep  her  from  contagion,  now  that  she  had  held 
my  hands  in  hers, 

VV  hen  I  came  again  to  .Fritz's  bedside,  he  was  asleep } 
Bitterly  I  reproached  m3rself ;  but  what  could  I  have  done? 
He  was  asleep — sleeping  quietly,  with  soft,  even  breath- 
ing. I  had  not  courage  tc  iwake  him ;  but  I  knelt  down 
and  implored  the  blessed  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  to  hav« 
mercy  on  me,  and  spare  him.  And  they  must  have  heard 
me ;  for  in  spite  of  my  failure  in  keeping  the  physician's 
orders,  Fritz  began  to  recover  from  that  very  sleep. 

Our  grandmother  Days  it  was  a  miracle ;  "  unless,"  she 
added,  "  the  doctor  was  wrong." 

He  awoke  from  that  sleep  refreshed  and  calm,  but  weak 
as  an  infant. 

It  was  delightful  to  meet  his  eyes  when  first  he  awoke, 
with  the  look  of  quiet  recognition  in  them,  instead  of  thai 
wild,  fixed  stare,  or  that  restless  wandering,  to  look  onc« 
niorc  into  his  heart  through  his  eyes.  He  looked  at  me  a 
long  time  with  a  quiet  content,  withf  at  speaking,  and  the*» 
lie  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  me, — 

"  Else,  you  have  been  watching  long  here.  You  look 
tired  ;  go  and  rest." 


oo  TEE  8CU0NBER  O-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  T. 

"  It  i-ests  me  best  to  lool:  at  you,"  I  caid,  "  and  see  you 
better." 

He  seemed  too  wenk  to  persist,  and  after  taking  soino 
food  and  cooling  drinks,  be  fell  asleep  again,  and  so  did  I; 
for  the  next  thing  I  w£-,o  conseioua  of  was  our  mother 
gently  placing  a  pillow  underneath  my  head,  which  had 
snnk  on  the  bed  where  I  had  been  kneeling,  watch irg 
Fritz.  I  Avas  ashamed  of  being  such  a  bad  wurse  ;  but  our 
mother  insisted  on  my  going  to  oxw  room  to  seek  rest  and 
refreshment.  And  for  the  next  few  days  we  took  it  in 
turns  to  sit  beside  him,  until  he  began  to  gaiii  strength. 
Then  Ave  thought  he  might  like  to  see  Eva ;  but  when  Bho 
came  to  the  door,  he  eagerly  motioned  her  away,  and 
said, — 

"Do  not  let  her  venture  nsar  Tie.  Think  if  I  were  to 
bring  this  .judgment  of  God  on  her  !  " 

Eva  turned  away,  and  was  out  of  sight  in  an  instant ; 
but  the  treubled,  per})lexed  expression  came  back  into  my 
brother's  eyes,  and  the  feverish  flush  into  his  face,  and  it 
was  long  before  he  seemed  calm  ajirain. 

I  followed  Eva.  She  was  ti^.ting  with  clasped  hands  in 
our  roora. 

'*  Oh,  Else,"  she  said,  "  how  altered  he  is !  Are  you 
tin  re  be  will  live  even  now  ?  " 

I  tried  to  comfort  her  with  the  hope  which  was  natu- 
rally so  much  stronger  in  m.e,  because  I  had  seen  him  in 
the  depths  from  which  he  Avas  now  slowly  rising  again  to 
life.  But  something  in  that  glimpce  of  him  seemed  to 
weigh  on  her  very  life ;  and  as  Fritz  recovered,  Eva  seemed 
to  grow  paler  and  weaker,  until  the  same  feverish  s\Tnp- 
toms  came  over  her  Avhich  we  had  learntid  so  to  dread, 
and  then  the  terrible  tokens,  the  plague-spots,  which  could 
not  be  doubted,  appeared  or.  the  fair,  soft  arms,  and  Eva 
was  lying  Avith  those  dim ,  fixed,  pestileiice-veiled  eyes,  and 
Uie  wandering  brain. 


ELSE'S  CnRONICLE  loi 

Yoc  a  day  wo  r-eve  able  to  conceal  it  fj-oin  Fritz,  Imt  no 
ons"or. 

On  the  second  evening  aftoi  Eva  was  stricken^  1  foui  ■^ 
him  standing  hy  tlie  window  of  his  room,  looking  into  the 
street.  I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  horror  in  his 
eyes  as  he  turned  from  the  window  to  me. 

"  Else,"  ho  said,  "  how  long  have  those  fires  been  burn- 
nig  in  the  streets  ?" 

"■  For  a  week,"  I  said.  "  They  are  fires  of  cypress-wood 
and  juniper,  with  myrrh  and  pine  gums.  The  physicians 
say  they  purify  the  air." 

"  I  know  too  well  what  they  are,"  he  said.  "  And,  Else,'* 
lie  said,  "  why  is  Master  Biirer's  house  opposite  closed  ?" 

"  He  has  lost  two  children,"  I  said. 

"And  why  are  those  other  windows  closed  all  down  the 
street?"  he  rejoined. 

"  The  people  have  left,  brother,"  I  said  ;  "  but  the  doc- 
tors hope  the  worst  is  over  now." 

"O  just  God!"  he  exclaimed,  sinking  on  a  chair  and 
covering  his  face;  "I  was  flying  from  thee,  and  I  have 
brought  the  curse  on  my  ]>eople  !" 

Then,  after  a  minute's  ])ause,  before  I  could  think  of  any 
words  to  comfort  him,  he  looked  up,  and  suddenly  de- 
manded— 

"  Who  are  dead  in  this  house.  Else  ?" 

"  None,  none,"  I  said. 

"Who  are  stricken  ?"  he  asked. 

"All  the  children  and  the  father  are  well,"  I  said,  "aiul 
the  mother." 

"  Then  Eva  is  stricken,"  he  exclaimed — "  the  innocent 
for  the  guilty !  She  will  die  and  be  a  saint  in  heaven,  and 
I,  who  have  murdered  her,  shall  live,  and  shall  sec  her  no 
more,  for  ever  and  for  ever." 

I  could  not  comfort  him.  The  strength  of  his  agony 
utterly  stunned  me,     I  could  only  burst  intt>  tears,  sc  thai 


I02  THE  »CnONBERO-COTTA  I'AMILT. 

he  had  to  try  to  comfort  me.  But  he  did  not  speak  ;  he 
only  took  my  hands  in  his  kindly,  as  of  old,  without  sajdng 
another  word.     At  length  I  said — 

"  It  is  not  you  who  brought  the  plague,  deai  Fritz ;  it  is 
God  who  sent  it." 

"  I  know  it  is  God,"  he  replied,  w'ith  sucL  an  intense 
bitterness  in  his  tone  that  I  did  not  attempt  unother  sen- 
tence. 

That  night  Eva  wandered  much  as  I  watch ed  1/eside  her ; 
but  her  delirium  was  quite  different  from  that  of  Fritz. 
Her  spirit  seemed  floating  away  on  a  quiet  stream  into 
some  happy  land  we  could  not  see.  She  spoke  of  a  palace, 
of  a  home,  of  fields  of  fragrant  lilies,  of  white-robed  saints 
walking  among  them  with  harps  and  songs,  and  of  One 
walking  there,  who  Avelcomed  her.  Occasionally,  too,  she 
murmured  snatches  of  the  same  Latin  hymns  that  Fritz 
had  repeated  in  his  delirium,  but  in  a  tone  so  difterent,  so 
child-like  and  happy  !  If  ever  she  appeared  troubled,  it 
was  when  she  seemed  to  miss  some  one,  and  be  searching 
here  and  there  for  them;  but  then  she  often  ended  wit!:, 
"  Yes,  I  know  they  will  come ;  I  must  wait  till  they  come.'' 
And  so  at  last  she  fell  asleep,  as  if  the  thought  had  quieter 
her. 

I  could  not  hinder  her  sleeping,  whatever  the  physician 
Baid — she  looked  so  placid,  and  had  such  a  happy  smile  on 
her  lips.  Only  once,  when  she  had  lain  thus  an  hour  quite 
still,  while  her  chest  seemed  scarcely  to  heave  v/ith  her 
ioft,  tranquil  breathing,  I  grew  alarmed  lest  she  should 
glide  thus  from  us  into  the  arms  of  the  holy  angel*. ;  and  I 
whispered  softly,  "  Eva,  dear  Eva !" 

Her  lips  parted  slightly,  and  she  murmured — 

'•'Not  yet;  wait  till  they  come." 

And  then  she  turned  her  head  again  on  the  pillow,  and 
slept  on.  She  awoke  quite  collected  and  calm,  and  ther 
she  said  quietly,  "  Where  is  the  mother  ?" 


ELSE'S  CnRONICLB.  103 

*'  She  is  resting,  darling  Eva." 

She  gave  a  little  contented  smile,  and  then,  iu  broken 
<v'oris  at  intervals,  she  said — 

"Now,  I  should  like  to  see  Fritz.  You  promised  J 
should  see  him  again  ;  and  now,  if  I  die,  I  think  he  would 
like  to  see  me  once  more." 

I  went  to  fetch  my  brother.  He  was  pacing  up  an 3 
lown  his  room,  with  the  crucifix  clasped  to  his  breast. 
At  first,  to  my  surprise,  he  seemed  very  relu  :;taut  to  come ; 
Dut  when  I  said  how  much  she  wished  it,  he  followed  me 
quite  meekly  into  her  room.  Eva  was  resuming  her  old 
command  over  us  all.  She  held  out  her  hand,  with  a  look 
of  such  peace  and  rest  on  her  face. 

"  Cousin  Fritz,"  she  said  at  intervals,  as  she  had  strength, 
"  you  have  taught  me  so  many  things — you  have  done  so 
much  for  me.  Xow  I  wish  you  to  learn  my  sentence,  that 
if  I  go,  it  may  make  you  happy,  as  it  does  me."  Then 
very  slowly  and  distinctly  she  repeated  the  words — "  ^God 
so  loved  the  world  thai  he  gave  his  onhj  ^nn.''  Cousin  Fritz," 
she  added,  "  I  do  not  know  the  end  of  the  sentence.  I 
have  not  been  able  to  find  it,  but  you  must  find  it.  I  am 
sure  it  comes  from  a  good  book,  it  makes  me  love  God  so 
much  to  think  of  it.  Promise  me  you  will  find  it  if  I  should 
die." 

He  promised,  and  she  was  quite  satisfied.  Her  strength 
seemed  exhausted,  and  in  a  few  moments,  with  my  arms 
round  her  as  I  sat  beside  her,  and  with  her  hand  in  Fritz's, 
lie  fell  into  a  deep,  quiet  sleep. 

I  felt  from  that  time  she  would  not  die,  and  I  whispered 
very  softly  to  Fritz — 

'•'She  will  not  die;  she  will  recovet,  and  you  will  not 
flave  killed  her ;  you  will  have  saved  her." 

But  when  I  looked  into  his  face,  expecting  to  meet  a 
thankful,  happy  response,  I  was  appalled  by  the  expicssion 
there. 


104 


THE  aVHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


He  stoqd  immovable,  not  venturing  to  withdraw  h5« 
•^•^nd,  but  with  a  rigid,  hopeless  look  in  his  worn,  pale  face, 
wliich  contrasted  terribly  with  the  smile  of  deep  repose  on 
i'he  sleeping  face  on  which  his  eyes  were  fixed. 

And  so  he  remained  until  she  awoke,  when  liis  whok 
?ountonance  changed  for  an  instant  to  return  her  smile. 

Then  he  said  softly,  "  God  bless  you,  Eva !"  and  presS' 
nig  her  hand  to  his  lips,  lie  left  the  room. 

When  I  saw  hira  again  that  day,  I  said — 

"  Fritz,  you  saved  Eva's  life.  She  rallied  from  the  time 
(he  saw  you." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  very  gently,  but  with  a  strange  im- 
passiveness  in  his  face  ;  "  I  think  that  may  be  true.  I 
have  saved  her." 

But  he  did  not  go  into  her  room  again ;  and  the  next 
day,  to  our  surprise  and  disappointment,  he  said  suddenly 
that  he  must  leave  us. 

He  said  few  words  of  fare\vell  to  any  of  us,  and  would 
not  see  Eva  to  take  leave  of  her.  He  said  it  might  disturb 
her. 

But  when  he  kissed  me  before  he  went,  his  hands  and 
lips  were  as  cold  as  death.  Yet  as  I  watched  him  go 
down  the  street,  he  did  no<  once  turn  to  wave  a  last  good- 
bye, as  he  .always  used  to  do  ;  but  slowly  and  steadily  he 
went  on  till  he  was  out  of  sight. 

I  turned  back  into  the  house  with  a  very  heavy  heart ; 
but  -?rhen  I  went  to  tell  Eva  Fritz  was  gone,  and  tried  to 
account  for  his  not  coming  to  take  leave  of  her,  because  I 
thought  it  would  give  her  pain  (and  it  does  seem  to  me 
rather  strange  of  Fritz),  she  looked  up  with  her  quiet, 
trustful,  contented  smile  and  said — 

"  I  am  not  at  all  pained.  Cousin  Else.  I  know  Fritz  liad 
good  reasons  for  it — some  good,  kind  reasons — l/Ccauso  h( 
always  baa  •  and  we  shall  see  him  again  as  soon  as  he  car 

SOUJf.' 


VI. 


FRIEDRICH'S     STORY. 


St.  Sebastian,  Erfurt,  January  20,  1510. 
I  HE  irrevocable  step  is  taken.  I  have  entered 
the  Angustinian  cloister.  I  write  in  Martin 
Luther's  cell.  Truly  I  have  forsaken  father 
and  mother,  and  all  that  was  dearest  to  me,  to 
take  refuge  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  I  have  sacrificed 
everything  on  earth  to  my  vocation,  and  yet  the  conflict  is 
not  over.  I  seem  scarcely  more  certain  of  my  vocation 
now  than  while  I  remained  in  the  woi'ld.  Doubts  buzz 
around  me  like  wasps,  and  sting  me  on  every  side.  The 
devil  transforming  himself  into  an  angel  of  light  perplexes 
me  with  the  very  words  of  Scripture.  The  words  of  Mar- 
tin Luther's  fither  recur  to  me,  as  if  spoken  by  a  divine 
voice.  "  Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mother,"  echoes  back 
to  me  from  the  chants  of  the  choir,  and  seems  written 
everywhere  on  the  white  walls  of  my  cell. 

And,  besides  the  thunder  of  these  words  of  God,  tend<?  r 
voices  seem  to  call  me  back  by  every  plea  of  duty,  not  to 
abandon  them  to  fight  the  battle  of  life  alone.  Else  calls 
me  from  the  old  lumber-room,  "  Fritz  !  brother  !  who  is 
to  tell  me  now  what  to  do  r"  My  mother  does  not  call 
me  back,  but  I  seem  ever  to  see  her  tearful  eyes,  full  of 
rcpn)«u;h  and  wonder  which  she  trios  to  repress,  lifted  up 

ft*  lUl') 


io6  THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILJ 

to  lieaveii  for  strength  ;  and  lier  worn,  pale  face  growing 
more  Avan  every  day.  In  one  voice  and  one  face  only  I 
seem  never  to  hear  or  see  reproach  or  recall;  nnd  yet, 
heaven  forgive  me,  those  pure  and  saintly  eyes  Avhich 
seem  only  to  say,  "Go  en,  cousin  Fritz,  God  will  help 
thee,  and  I  -will  pray," — those  sweet,  trustful,  heavenl} 
eyes  draw  me  back  to  the  world  with  more  power  thai 
anything  else. 

Is  it  then  too  late  ?  Have  I  lino^ered  in  the  Avorld  so 
long  that  my  heart  can  never  more  be  torn  from  it  ?  Is 
tliis  the  punishment  of  my  guilty  hesitation,  that,  though 
I  have  given  my  body  to  the  cloister,  God  will  not  have 
my  soul,  Avhich  evermore  must  hover  like  a  lost  sjtirit 
about  the  scenes  it  was  too  reluctant  to  leave  ?  Shall  I 
evermore,  when  I  lift  my  eyes  to  heaven,  see  all  that  ia 
pure  and  saintly  there  embodied  for  me  in  a  face  which  it 
is  deadly  sin  for  me  to  remember  ? 

Yet  I  have  saved  her  life.  If  I  brought  the  curse  on 
my  people  by  my  sin,  was  not  my  obedience  accepted  ? 
From  the  hour  when,  in  my  room  alone,  after  hearing  thsU 
Kva  was  stricken,  I  prostrated  myself  before  God,  and 
not  daring  to  take  his  insulted  name  on  my  li]>s,  approached 
him  through  his  martyred  saint,  and  said,  "  IToly  Sebas- 
tian, by  the  arrows  wdich  pierced  thy  heart,  ward  off  the 
arrows  of  pestilence  from  my  home,  and  I  will  become  a 
monk,  and  change  my  OAvn  guilty  name  for  thine," — from 
that  moment  did  not  Eva  begin  to  recoA'er,  and  from  that 
time  Avere  not  all  my  kindred  unscathed  ?  "  Cadent  a 
latere  tuo  mille,  et  decern  millia  a  dextris  tuis  :  ad  to 
antem  non  apj)ropinquabit."  Were  not  these  words  liter- 
ally fulfilled  ;  and  while  many  s!,ill  fell  around  us,  was  oie 
afterwards  stricken  in  my  home  ? 

Holy  Sebastian,  infallible  protector  against  pestilenct 
by  thy  fiimness  when  accused,  confirm  my  wavering  will 
by  thy  double  deatli,  save  me  from  the  second  deatb  ;  by 


FBIEDFJCE'S  CHRONIGLE.  ,c, 

the  arrows  which  could  not  slay  thee,  thou  hast  saA^ed  us 
("rom  the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day ;  hy  the  cruel  blows 
which  seut  thy  spirit  from  the  circus  to  paradise,  strength 
en  me  agaiust  the  blows  of  Satan  ;  b)  thy  body  rescued 
from  ignominious  sepulture  and  laid  in  the  catacombs 
wuoug  the  martyrs,  raise  mo  from  the  filth  of  sin  ;  by  thy 
generous  pleading  for  thy  fellow-sufterers  amidst  thine 
own  agonies,  help  me  to  plead  for  those  who  suffer  with 
me ;  and  by  all  thy  sorrows,  and  merits,  and  joys,  jjlead 
—Oh,  plead  for  me,  who  henceirorth  bear  thy  name. 

St.  Scholastica,  February  10. 

tHAVE  been  a  month  in  the  monastery.     Yesterday 
my  first  probation  was  over,  and  I  was  invested  with 
the  white  garments  of  the  novitiate. 

The  whole  of  the  brotherhood  were  assembled  in  the 
church,  when,  as  kneeling  before  the  prior,  ho  asked  me 
solemnly  whether  I  thought  my  strength  sufficient  for  the 
jurden  I  purposed  to  take  on  myself. 

In  a  low  grave  voice  ho  reminded  me  what  those  bur- 
dens are,  the  rough  plain  clothing,  the  abstemious  living, 
the  broken  rest  and  long  vigils,  the  toils  in  the  service  of 
Ibe  order,  the  reproach  and  poverty,  the  humiliations  of 
the  mendicant,  and,  above  all,  the  renunciation  of  self-will 
and  individual  glory,  to  be  a  member  of  the  order,  bound 
to  do  Avliatever  the  superiors  command,  and  to  go  whither- 
soever they  direct. 

"  With  God  for  my  help,"  I  could  vent  ure  to  say,  "  ot 
this  will  I  make  trial." 

Then  the  prior  replied, — 

"  We  receive  thee,  therefore,  on  probation  for  one  year  j 
and  may  God,  who  has  begun  a  good  work  in  thee,  c^rry 
it  on  unto  perfection.'* 

The  wiiole  brotherhood  responded  in  a  deep  amen,  «nd 
then  all  the  voices  joined  in  the  hym/i, — 


1 08  THE  SCHONBEEG-  CO TTA  FAMIL T. 

"  Magna  Pater  Augustine,  preces  noGti'as  suBcipe, 
Et  per  eas  conditori  nos  placare  satage, 
Atque  rego  gregem  tuum,  summiim  decus  prffisulum 

Amatorem  paupertatis,  te  collaudant  pauperea  ; 
Assertorem  veretatis  amant  veri  judice3  ; 
Frangis  nobis  favos  mellis  de  Sciipturis  diaserena. 

Quae  obscura  prius  erant  nobis  plana  faciens, 
Tu  de  verbis  Salvatcri:  duicera  panem  conficia, 
Et  propinas  potum  vitse  de  psalraorum  cectare, 

Tu  de  viia  clericorum  Da~ctai]o.  scribis  regul&m, 
Quam  qui  amant  et  oequuntur  \'iam  tenent  regianu, 
Atque  tuo  sancto  duct'i  redeunt  ad  patriam. 

Rfgi  regum  salus,  '/itf.,  decua  et  iraperium ; 
Trinitati  laus  et  honor  sit  per  omne  sajculum, 
Qui  concives  nos  ascribat  supernorum  civium."* 

Aa  the  sacred  words  were  chanted  they  mingled  Ktrai.ga 
Hy.in  my  mind  with  the  ceremonies  of  the  imestituro 

*  "  Great  Father  Augustine,  receiye  our  prayers 

And  through  them  en'ectually  reconcile  the  Create"; 
And  rule  thy  liock,  the  highest  giorj  of  rulers. 

The  poor  praise  thee,  lover  of  poverty  ; 
True  judges  love  thee,  defender  of  truth ; 
Breaking  the  houeyccr^b  of  the  honey  of  Scripture 
thou  distributest  it  to  us. 

Making  smooth  to  us  vrhat  before  was  obscure, 
Thou,  from  the  words  of  the  Saviour,  furniahest 

us  with  wholesome  bread, 
And  givest  to  dcink  draughts  of  life  from  the  nectftr 

of  ine   psalms. 

Thou  writeat  the  holy  rule  for  the  life  of  priests, 
Which,  whosoever  love  and  follow,  keep  the  royal  road, 
And  by  Thy  holy  leading  return  to  their  fatherland. 

Salvation  to  the  King  of  kings,  life,  glory,  and  dominion 
Honour  and  praise  be  to  the  Trinity  throughout  all  agM, 
To  Him  who  declareth  us  to  be  fellow-citizens  of  th« 
citizens  of  heaven." 


FRIEDRICWS  CHRONICLE.  109 

My  Lair  was  shorn  with  the  clerical  tonsure,  my  secular 
dress  was  laid  aside  ;  the  garments  of  ilie  novice  were 
thrown  on,  girded  with  the  girdle  of  rope,  whilst  the  prior 
murmured  softly  to  me,  that  with  the  new  robes  I  must 
put  on  the  new  man. 

Then,  as  the  last  notes  of  the  hymn  died  away,  I  knelt 
and  bowed  low  to  receive  the  prior's  blessing,  invoked  it 
these  words  : — 

"  May  God,  who  hath  converted  this  young  man  from 
the  world,  and  given  him  a  mansion  in  heaven,  grant  that 
liis  daily  walk  may  be  as  becometh  his  calling  ;  and  that 
he  may  have  cause  to  be  thankful  for  what  has  this  day 
been  done." 

Versicles  were  then  chanted  responsively  by  the  monks? 
who  forming  in  procession  moved  towards  the  choir  where 
we  all  prostrated  ourselves  in  silent  prayer. 

After  this  tbey  conducted  me  to  the  great  hall  of  the 
cloister,  Avhere  all  the  brotherhood  bestowed  on  me  tho 
kiss  of  peace. 

Once  more  I  knelt  before  the  prior,  who  reminded  me 
that  he  who  persevereth  to  the  end  shall  be  saved  ;  and 
gave  me  over  to  the  direction  of  the  preceptor,  whom  tho 
new  Vicar- General  Staupitz  has  ordered  to  be  appointed 
to  each  no\n.ce. 

Thus  tVe  first  groat  ceremony  of  my  monastic  life  is 
over,  and  it  has  left  me  with  a  feeling  of  blank  and  disap* 
pointnient.  It  has  made  no  change  that  I  can  feel  in  my 
heart.  It  has  not  removed  the  world  further  off  from 
me.  It  has  only  raised  another  impassable  barrie  ■  between 
me  and  all  that  was  dearest  to  me, — impassable  as  aa 
ocean  without  ships,  infrangible  as  the  strongest  iron,  I 
am  determined  my  ivili  shall  make  it;  but  to  my /i ear/, 
alas!  thin  as  gossamer,  since  every  ftiiutest,  wistful  tone 
of  love,  which  echoes  from  the  past,  can  penetrate  it  and 
pierce  me  with  sorrow. 


.    D  THE  SCUONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

My  preceptor  is  very  strici,  in  enforcing  the  rules  of 
ll)3  cider.  Trespasses  against  the  rules  are  divided  into 
four  classes, — small,  great,  greater,  and  greatest,  to  each  of 
Avhich  16  assigned  a  different  degree  of  penance.  Among 
the  smaher  are  failing  to  go  to  church  as  soon  as  the  sign 
is  given,  ix,i  getting  to  touch  the  ground  instantly  with  the 
hand  and  vo  timite  the  breast  if  in  reading  in  the  choir  or 
in  singing  vhe  least  error  is  committed ;  looking  about 
during  the  sen  ice  ;  omitting  jtrostration  at  the  Annuncia- 
tion or  at  ChriSLinas  ;  neglecting  the  benediction  in  com- 
ing in  or  going  out ;  failing  to  return  books  or  garments 
to  their  proper  piacos  ;  dropping  food ;  spilling  drink  J 
forgetting  to  say  grace  before  eating.  Among  the  great 
trespasses  are  :  contending,  breaking  the  prescribed  silence 
at  fasts,  and  looking  at  women,  or  speaking  to  them,  ex- 
cept in  brief  replies. 

The  minute  rules  are  coxttitless.  It  is  difficult  at  first  to 
learn  the  various  genuflexions,  inclinations,  and  prostra- 
tions. The  novices  are  never  allowed  to  converse  except 
\\\  presence  of  the  prior,  are  forbidden  to  take  any  notice 
of  visitors,  are  enjoined  to  walk  with  downcast  eyes,  to 
read  the  Scriptures  diligently,  to  bow  low  in  receiving 
every  gift,  and  say,  "  The  Lord  be  praised  in  his  gifts." 

How  brother  Martin,  with  his  free,  bold,  daring  nature, 
bore  those  minute  restrictions,  I  know  not.  To  me  there 
is  a  kind  of  dull,  deadening  relief  in  them,  they  distraf^ 
my  thoughts,  or  jDrevent  my  thinking. 

Yet  it  must  be  true,  my  obedience  will  aid  my  kindreo 
more  than  all  my  toil  could  ever  have  done  whilst  disobedi- 
ently remaining  in  the  world.  It  is  not  a  selfish  seek- 
ing of  my  own  salvation  and  ease  which  has  brought  me 
here,  wliatever  some  may  think  and  say,  as  they  did  of 
Martin  Luther.  I  think  of  that  ship  in  the  picture  at 
Magdeburg  ho  so  often  told  me  of.  Am  I  not;  in  it,— 
actually  in  it  now?    and  shall  I  not  hereafter,  when  my 


FRIEDRICWS  CHRONICLE.  m 

strengtli  is  recovered  from  the  fatigue  of  reaching  it,  hopt 
to  lean  over  and  stretch  out  my  arms  to  tliem  still  strug- 
gling in  the  waves  of  this  bitter  world,  and  save  them. 

Save  them;  yes,  save  their  souls !  Did  not  my  vow  save 
precious  lives  ?  And  shall  not  my  fastings,  vigils,  disci- 
plines, prayers  be  as  effectual  for  their  souls?  And  then, 
hereafter,  in  heaven,  where  those  dwell  who,  in  virgin 
purity,  have  followed  the  Lamb,  shall  I  not  lean  over  the 
jasper-battlements  and  help  them  from  purgatory  up  the 
Kteep  sides  of  paradise,  and  be  first  at  the  gate  to  welcome 
them  in !  And  then,  in  paradise,  where  love  will  no 
longer  be  in  danger  of  becoming  sin,  may  we  not  be  to- 
gether for  ever  and  for  ever.  And  then  shall  I  regret  that 
I  abandoned  the  brief  polluted  joys  of  earth  for  the  pure 
joys  of  eternity?  Shall  I  lament  then  that  I  chose,  ac- 
cording to  my  vocation,  to  suffer  apart  from  them  that 
their  souls  might  be  saved,  rather  than  to  toil  with  them 
for  the  perishing  body  ? 

Then!  then!  T,  a  saint  in  the  City  of  God!  I,  a  hesi- 
tating, sinful  novice  in  the  Augustinian  monastery  at 
Erfurt,  who,  after  resisting  for  years,  have  at  last  yielded 
up  my  body  to  the  cloister,  but  have  no  more  power  than 
ever  to  yield  up  my  heart  to  God ! 

Yet  I  am  m  the  sacred  vessel ;  the  rest  will  surely  fol- 
low. Do  all  monks  have  such  a  conflict  ?  No  doubt  the 
devil  fights  hard  for  every  fresh  victim  he  loses.  It  is,  it 
must  l)e,  the  devil  who  beckons  me  through  those  dear 
f:\ces,  Avho  calls  me  through  those  familiar  voices;  for  tkc'j 
would  never  call  me  back.  They  Avould  hide  their  pain, 
and  say,  "  Go  lo  God  if  he  calls  thee ;  leave  us  ajid  go  to 
God."  Else,  my  mother,  all  would  say  that,  if  their  hearts 
broke  in  trying  to  say  it. 

Had  Martin  Luther  such  thoughts  in  this  very  cell  ?  If 
they  are  from  the  Evil  One,  I  thhik  he  had,  for  his  assault? 
are  str ingest  against  the  noblest;  and  yet  I  scarcely  think 


,12  THE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMTLT. 

he  can  liave  had  such  weak  doubts  as  those  which  haunt 
me.  He  was  not  one  of  those  who  draw  Lack  to  perdi- 
tion ;  nor  even  of  those  who,  having  put  tlieir  hand  to  tl  e 
plough,  look  back,  as  I,  alas !  am  so  continually  doing. 
And  what  does  the  Scripture  say  of  such? — "they  are  not 
fit  for  the  kingdom  of  God."  No  exception,  no  reserve — • 
monk,  priest,  saint ;  if  a  man  look  back,  he  is  not  fit  for  the 
kingdom  of  God.  Then  what  becomes  of  my  hopes  of 
paradise,  or  acquiring  merits  which  may  aid  others  ?  Turn 
back,  draw  back,  I  will  never,  although  all  the  devils  were  to 
drive  me,  or  all  the  Avorld  entice  me ;  but  look  back,  who 
can  help  that  ?  If  a  look  can  kill,  what  can  save  ?  Mor- 
tificntion,  crucifixion,  not  for  a  day,  but  daily; — I  must  die 
daily  ;  I  must  be  dead — dead  to  the  world.  This  cell  must 
to  me  be  as  a  tomb,  where  all  that  was  most  loving  in  ray 
heart  must  die  and  be  buried.  Was  it  so  to  Martin 
Luther  ?  Is  the  cloister  that  to  those  bands  of  rosy,  com- 
fortable monks,  Avho  drink  beer  from  great  cans,  and  feast 
on  the  best  of  the  land,  and  fiist  on  the  choicest  fish? 
The  tempter,  the  tempter  again.  Judge  not,  and  ye  shall 
not  be  judged. 

St.  Etjlalia,  Erfurt,  Feh'uary  13,  1510. 

TO-DAY  one  of  the  older  monks  came  to  me,  seeing 
me,  I  sup})ose,  look  downcast  and  sad,  and  said, 
*'  Fear  not.  Brother  Sebastian,  the  strife  is  often  hard  at 
first ;  but  remember  the  words  of  St.  Jerome :  '  Though 
thy  fathei"  should  lie  before  tliy  door  weeping  and  lament- 
ing, though  thy  mother  should  show  thee  the  body  that 
bore  thee,  and  the  breast  that  nursed  thee,  see  that  thou 
trample  them  under  foot,  and  go  on  straightway  to  Christ.'  " 
I  bowed  my  head,  according  to  rule,  in  acknowledgment 
of  his  exhortation,  and  I  suppose  he  thought  his  words 
comforted  and  strengthened  me ;  but  heaven  knows  the 
conflict  they  awakened  in  inv  heart  when  I  sat  alono  to 


FBIEDRIGWS  CHRONIGLB.  1 1  j 

niglit  in  my  cell.  "Cruel,  bitter,  wicked  words!"  my 
earthly  heart  would  say;  my  sinful  heart,  that  vigils, 
scourging,  scarcely  death  itself,  I  fear,  can  kill.  Surely,  at 
least,  the  holy  father  Jerome  spoke  of  heathen  fathers  and 
mothers.  My  mother  would  not  show  her  anguish  to  wiu 
me  back;  she  would  say,  "My  son,  my  first-born,  G.>d 
bless  thee ;  I  give  thee  freely  up  to  God."  Does  she  not 
say  so  in  this  letter  which  I  have  in  her  handwriting,— 
which  I  have  and  dare  not  look  at,  because  of  the  storm 
i){  memory  it  brings  rushing  on  my  heart? 

Is  there  a  word  of  reproach  or  remonstrance  in  her  let- 
ter 1  If  there  were,  I  would  read  it ;  it  would  strengthen 
me.  The  saints  had  that  to  bear.  It  is  because  those  holy, 
tender  words  echo  in  my  heart,  from  a  voice  weak  with, 
feeble  health,  that  day  by  day,  and  liour  by  hour,  my  heai't 
goes  back  to  the  home  at  Eisenach,  and  sees  them  toihng 
unaided  in  the  daily  struggle  for  bread,  to  which  I  have 
abandoned  them,  unsheltered  and  alone. 

Then  at  times  the  thought  comes,  Am  I,  after  all,  a 
dreamer,  as  I  have  sometimes  ventured  to  think  my  father, 
— ueHecting  my  ])lain  daily  task  for  some  Atlantis?  and 
if  my  Atlantis  is  paradise  instead  of  beyond  the  ocean, 
does  that  make  so  much  difference  ? 

If  Brother  Martin  were  only  here,  he  might  understand 
and  help  me ;  but  he  has  now  been  nearly  two  years  at 
Wittenburg,  where  he  is,  they  say,  to  lecture  on  theology 
at  the  Elector's  new  university,  and  to  be  preacher.  The 
monks  seem  nearly  as  proud  of  him  as  the  university  of 
Erfurt  was. 

Yet,  perhaps,  after  all,  he  might  not  understand  my  per 
l)lexities.  His  nature  was  so  firm  and  straightforwai  /  an< 
strong.  He  would  i>robably  have  little  sympatlij  witl 
vavering  he.irts  and  ti :uMed  corsciences  like  mine. 


;,4  THE  RCIIONBERQ-COTTA  VAl^JILY. 

SS.  Perpetua  and  Feltcttas,  March  7. 
Erfurt,  Augustiniaii  Cloister. 

1*^0 -DAY  I  have  b.?en  out  on  my  first  quest  for  alms, 
It  seemed  very  strange  at  tii'st  to  be  begging  at 
ikmiliar  doors,  witli  the  frock  and  the  convent  sack  on  my 
shoulders;  but  although  I  tottered  a  little  at  times  undar 
the  weight  as  it  grew  heavy  (for  tlie  plague  and  fasting 
have  left  me  weak),  I  returned  to  the  cloister  feeling  better 
and  easier  in  mind,  and  more  hopeful  as  to  my  vocation, 
tlian  I  had  done  for  some  days.  Perhaps,  however,  the  fresh 
air  had  something  to  do  with  it ;  and,  after  all,  it  was  only 
fi  little  bodily  exultation.  But  certainly  such  bodily  loads 
and  outward  mortifications  are  not  the  burdens  which 
weigh  the  spirit  down.  There  seemed  a  luxury  in  the 
iialf-scornful  looks  of  some  of  my  former  fellow-students, 
and  in  the  contemptuous  tossing  to  me  of  scraps  of  meat 
by  some  grudging  hands  ;  just  as  a  tight  pressure,  which  in 
itself  would  be  pain  weie  we  at  ease,  is  relief  to  severe  pain. 
Perhaps,  also,  O  holy  Perpetua  and  Felicitas,  whose  day 
it  is,  and  especially  thou,  O  holy  Perj^etua,  who,  after  en- 
coui-aging  thy  sons  to  die  for  Christ,  wast  martyred  thy- 
t^elf,  hast  pleaded  for  my  forsaken  mother  and  for  me,  and 
Bendest  me  this  day  some  raj  of  hope. 

St.  Joseph,  March  19, 
AuGUSTiNiAiq  Cloister,  Erfurt. 

ST.  JOSEPH,  whom  I  have  chosen  to  be  one  of  the 
twenty-one  patron's  whom  I  especially  honour,  hear 
and  aid  me  to-day.  Thou  whose  glory  it  was  to  have  no 
glory,  but  meekly  to  aid  others  to  win  their  higher  crowns, 
give  me  also  some  humble  place  on  high ;  and  not  to  me 
alone,  but  to  those  whom  I  have  left  still  struggling  in  the 
stormy  seas  of  this  perilous  world. 

Here,  in  the  sacred  calm  of  the  cloister,  surely  at  length 
the  lieart  also  must  grow  calm  and  cease  to  beat,  excei'* 


FUIEDRICWS  CHRONICLE.  m 

witli  tlie  life  of  the  universal  Churoh, — the  feasts  iu  th« 
Calendar  becoming  its  events.     But  when  will  that  be  to 

me? 

March  20 

HAS  Brother  Martin  attained  this  repose  yet?  As, 
aged  monk  sat  with  me  in  my  cell  yesterday,  y\\in 
Jold  me  strange  tidings  of  him,  which  have  given  me  soma 
kind  of  bitter  comfort. 

It  seems  that  the  monastic  life  did  not  at  once  bring  re- 
pose into  his  heart. 

This  aged  monk  was  Brother  Martin's  confessor,  and  h« 
has  also  been  given  to  me  for  mine.  In  his  countenance 
there  is  such  a  peace  as  I  long  lor, — not  a  still,  death-like 
peace,  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  it  after  the  conflict,  but  a 
living,  kindly  peace,  as  if  he  had  won  it  through  the  con- 
flict, and  enjoyed  it  even  while  the  conflict  lasted. 

It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  Bi'other  Martin's  scruples 
and  doubts  were  exactly  like  mine.  Indeed,  my  confessor 
fiuyi;  that  in  all  the  years  he  has  extircised  his  office  he  haa 
never  found  two  troubled  hearts  troubled  exactly  alike. 

I  do  not  know  that  Brother  Martin  doubted  his  voca- 
tion, or  looked  back  to  the  Avorld ;  but  he  seems  to  have 
suff^ered  agonies  of  inward  torture.  His  conscience  waa 
bo  quick  and  tender,  that  the  least  sm  wounded  him  as  if 
it  had  been  the  grossest  crime.  He  invoked  the  saints 
most  devoutly — choosing,  as  I  have  done  from  his  example 
wenty-one  saints,  and  invoking  three  every  day,  so  as  to 
nonour  each  every  week.  He  read  mass  ever}  day,  and  had 
f.n  especial  devotion  for  the  blessed  Virgin.  He  Avasted 
ins  body  with  fasting  and  watching.  He  never  intention- 
ally violated  the  minutest  rule  of  the  order;  and  yet  tb« 
more  he  strove,  the  more  wretched  he  seemed  to  be. 
like  a  musician  whose  ear  is  cultivated  to  the  highest  de- 
gree,  the  slightest  discord  was  torture  to  him.  Can  it  then 
be  God's  intention  that  the  gi'owth  of  our  spiritual  Hfo  is 


Ii6  THE  SCSONBERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

only  growing  sensitiveness  to  pain  ?  Is  this  true  growth  ! 
— or  is  it  that  monstrous  development  of  one  faculty  at 
the  expense  of  others,  whioh  is  deformity  or  disease? 

The  confessor  said  thoughtfully,  when  I  suggested  tliis — 

"  The  world  is  out  of  tune,  my  son,  and  the  heart  is  out 
of  tune.  The  more  our  souls  vibrate  truly  to  the  musit 
j>f  heaven,  the  more,  perhaps,  they  must  feel  the  discords 
of  earth.  At  least  it  was  so  with  Brother  Martin ;  until 
at  last,  omitting  a  prostration  or  genuflexion,  Avould  weigh 
on  his  conscience  like  a  crime.  Once,  after  missing  him 
for  some  tune,  we  went  to  the  door  of  his  cell,  and  knocked. 
It  was  barred,  and  all  our  knocking  drew  no  response. 
We  broke  open  the  door  at  last,  and  found  him  stretched 
senseless  on  the  floor.  We  only  succeeded  in  reviving  him 
by  strains  of  sacred  music,  chanted  by  the  choisters  Avhom 
we  brought  to  his  cell.  He  always  dearly  loved  music,  and 
believed  it  to  have  a  strange  potency  against  the  Aviles  of 
the  devil." 

"  He  must  have  suflered  grievously,"  I  said.  "  I  suppose 
it  is  by  such  suiFerings  merit  is  acquired  to  aid  others  ?" 

"  He  did  sufler  agonies  of  mind,"  replied  tiie  old  monk. 
"  Often  he  would  walk  up  and  down  the  cold  corridors  for 
nights  together." 

"  Did  nothing  comfort  him  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  my  son ;  some  words  I  once  said  to  him  com- 
forted him  greatly.  Once,  when  I  found  him  in  an  agony 
of  despondency  in  his  cell,  I  said,  '  Brother  Martin,  dost 
tliou  believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  as  saith  the  Creed  ?' 
His  face  lighted  up  at  once." 

'■'  The  forgiveness  of  sins  !"  I  repeated  slowly.  "  Father, 
I  also  believe  in  that.  But  forgiveness  only  follows  on 
contrition,  confession  and  penance.  How  can  I  evei  be 
sure  that  I  have  been  sufficiently  contrite,  that  I  have  made 
an  honest  and  complete  confession,  or  that  I  have  perfoimed 
CK}  peuance  aright?" 


FRIEDRICWS  CHRONIULa.  11/ 

"Ah,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  "these  were  exactly 
Brother  Martin's  perplexities,  and  I  could  only  point  him 
to  the  crucified  Lord,  and  remind  him  again  of  the  forgive- 
ness of  sins.  All  we  do  is  incomplete,  and  when  the  blessed 
Lord  says  he  forgiveth  sins,  I  suppose  he  means  the  sins 
ot  sinners,  who  sin  in  their  confession  as  in  everything 
slse.  My  son,  he  is  more  compassionate  than  you  think, 
perhaps  than  any  of  us  think.  At  least  this  is  my  com- 
fort ;  and  if,  when  I  stand  before  him  at  last,  I  find  I  have 
made  a  mistake,  and  thought  him  more  compassionate  than 
he  is,  I  trust  he  wall  pardon  me.  It  can  scarcely,  I  think, 
grieve  him  so  much  as  declaring  him  to  be  a  hard  master 
would." 

I  did  not  say  anything  more  to  the  old  man.  His  words 
so  evidently  were  sti'ength  and  joy  to  him,  that  I  could 
not  venture  to  question  them  further.  To  me,  also,  they 
have  given  a  gleam  of  hope.  And  yet,  if  the  way  is  not 
rough  and  difficult,  and  if  it  is  not  a  hard  thing  to  please 
Almighty  God,  why  all  those  severe  rules  and  renunciju 
tions — those  heavy  penances  for  trifling  offences  ? 

Merciful  we  know  He  is.  The  emperor  may  be  merci- 
ful ;  but  if  a  peasant  were  to  attempt  to  enter  the  imperial 
presence  without  the  prescribed  fornis,  would  he  not  be 
driven  from  the  palace  with  curses,  at  the  point  of  the 
feword  ?    And  what  are  those  rules  at  the  court  of  heaven  ? 

If  perfecl  purity  of  heart  and  life,  who  can  lay  claim  to 
tTiat  ? 

If  a  minute  attention  to  the  rules  of  an  order  such  as 
this  of  St.  Augustine,  who  can  be  sure  of  having  ncvoi 
failed  in  this  ?  Tl»e  inattention  which  caused  the  neglect 
would  probably  let  it  glide  from  the  memory.  And  tlien, 
what  is  the  w^orth  of  confession  ? 

Christ  is  the  Saviour,  but  only  of  those  who  follow  him 
There  is  forgiveness  of  sins,  but  only  for  those  who  make 
adequate  confession.     I,  alas!  have  not  followed  him  fully 


1 1 8  THE  SCHONBERG-  CO TTA  FAMIL  T. 

What  priest  on  earth  can  assure  me  I  have  ever  conft»s:"Hj 
fully  ? 

Therefore  I  see  him  merciful,  gracious,  holy — a  Savioa/ 

but  seated  on  a  higli  throne,  where  I  can  never  bt   sura 

petitions  of  mine  will  reach  him;   and  alas !  one  day  to  be 

seated  on  a  great  white  throne,  whence  it  is  too  sure  hi? 

ummoning  voice  will  reach  me. 

Mary.  Mother  of  God,  Virgin  of  virgins,  mother  of  divine 
grace — holy  Sebastian  and  all  martyrs — great  father  Au- 
gustine and  all  holy  doctors,  intercede  for  me,  that  my 
penances  may  be  accepted  as  a  satisfaction  for  my  siua, 
and  may  pacify  my  Judge, 

ANNtmCIATION   OF  THE   IIOLY    VIRGIN, 

Mm  ch  25. 

MY  preceptor  has  put  into  my  hands  the  Bible  bound 
in  red  morocco  which  Brother  Martin,  he  says, 
used  to  read  so  much.  I  am  to  study  it  in  all  the  intervals 
which  the  study  of  the  fathers,  expeditions  for  begging, 
the  services  of  the  Church,  and  the  menial  offices  in  the 
liouse  which  fall  to  the  share  of  novices,  allow.  These  are 
not  many.  I  have  never  had  a  Bible  in  ray  hands  before, 
and  the  hours  pass  quickly  indeed  in  my  cell  which  I  can 
spend  in  reading  it.  The  preceptor,  when  he  comes  to 
call  me  for  the  midnight  service,  often  finds  me  t^till  read- 
ing. 

It  is  very  different  from  what  I  expected.  There  is  no- 
thing oratorical  in  it,  there  are  no  laboured  disquisitions, 
and  no  minute  rules,  at  least  in  the  New  Testament. 

I  wish  pometimes  I  had  lived  in  the  Old  Jewish  times, 
when  there  was  one  temple  Avherein  to  Avorship,  certain 
definite  feasts  to  celebrate,  certain  definite  ceremonial  rules 
to  keep. 

li"  1  could  hav<^  stood  in  the  Temple  courts  on  that  great 
day  of  atonement,  and  seen  the  victim  slain,  and  watched 


FRIEDRKjn  \j  Cim 03/1  CLE. 


119 


till  tliG  liigli  priest  came  out  from  the  holy  place  with  his 
haiuk  lifted  up  in  benediction.  I  should  have  known  abso 
lutely  that  God  was  satisfied,  and  returned  to  my  home  ii' 
peace.  Yes,  to  my  home.  There  were  no  monasteries, 
apparently,  in  those  Jewish  times.  Family  life  was  God'a 
appointment  then,  and  family  aftections  had  his  most  sol- 
enni  sanctions. 

Ir.  the  New  Testament,  on  the  contrary,  I  cannot  find 
any  of  those  definite  rules.  It  is  all  addressed  to  the  heart ; 
and  who  can  make  the  heart  right  ?  I  suppose  it  is  the 
conviction  of  this  which  has  made  the  Church  since  then 
restore  many  minute  rules  and  discipline,  in  imitation  of 
the  Jewish  ceremonial ;  for  in  the  Gospels  and  Epistles  I 
can  find  no  ritual,  ceremonial,  or  definite  external  rules  of 
any  kind. 

What  advantage,  then,  has  the  New  Testament  over  the 
Old  ?  Christ  has  come.  "  God  so  loved  the  world,  that 
he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son."  This  one/hi  surely  to 
make  a  great  diflference  betAveen  us  and  the  Jews.  But 
how  ? 

St.  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  April  9. 

I  HAVE  found,  in  my  reading  to-day,  the  end  of  Eva'a 
sentence — "  God  so  loved  the  woi-ld,  that  he  gave  hia 
only  begotten  Son,  thai  whosoever  believeih  in  him  should 
not  perish^  but  have  everlasting  life^ 

How  simple  the  words  are  ! — "  Believeth  ;"  that  would 
mean,  in  any  other  book,  "trustcth,"  "has  reliance"  iu 
Christ ; — simply  to  confide  in  him,  and  then  receive  his 
promise  not  to  perish. 

But  here — in  this  book,  in  theology — it  is  necessarily  im 
possible  that  believing  can  mean  anything  so  simple  as 
that;  because,  at  that  rate,  any  one  who  merely  came  to 
the  Lonl  Jesus  Christ  in  confiding  trust  would  have  ever- 
lasting life,  without  any  further  conditi(in8 ;  and  this  ia 
obviously  out  of  the  questiou. 


ISO  THE  8CH0NBERG  COTTA  FAMILY. 

For  wliat  cau  be  more  simple  than  to  confiile  in  ofra 
worthy  of  confidence?  and  wliut  can  be  greater  than  evei 
lasting  life  ? 

And  yet  we  know,  from  all  the  teaching  of  the  doctora 
!i!i<l  fathers  of  the  Church,  that  nothing  is  more  difticxjit 
than  obtaining  everlasting  life;  and  that,  for  this  reason, 
monastic  orders,  pilgrimages,  penances,  have  been  miilti' 
plied  from  century  to  century ;  for  this  reason  sahits  ha\'e 
forsaken  every  earthly  joy,  and  inflicted  on  themselves 
every  possible  torment ; — all  to  obtain  everlasting  life, 
which,  if  this  word  "  believeth"  meant  here  what  it  would 
mean  anywhere  but  in  theology,  would  l)e  offered  freely 
to  every  petitioner. 

Wherefore  it  is  clear  that  "  believeth,"  in  the  Scriptures, 
means  something  entirely;  different  from  Avhat  it  does  in 
any  secular  book,  and  must  include  contrition,  confession, 
penance,  satisfaction,  mortification  of  the  flesh,  and  all  else 
necessary  to  salvation. 

Shall  I  venture  to  send  this  end  of  Eva's  sentence  to  her  ? 

It  might  mislead  her.  Dare  I  for  her  sake  ? — dare  I  still 
more  for  my  own  ? 

One  hour  I  have  sat  before  this  question ;  and  whither 
has  my  heart  wandered  ?  What  confession  can  retrace 
the  flood  of  bitter  thoughts  which  have  rushed  over  me  iq 
this  one  hour  ? 

1  had  watched  her  grow  from  childhood  into  early  wo- 
manhood; and  until  these  last  months,  until  that  week  of 
anguish,  I  had  thought  of  her  as  a  creature  between  a 
child  and  an  angel.  I  had  loved  her  as  a  sister  Avho  had 
yet  a  mystery  and  a  charm  about  h<;r  different  from  a  sis- 
ter. 'NOnly  when  it  seemed  that  death  might  separate  us 
did  it  burst  upon  me  that  there  was  something  in  my  aff*aG- 
tion  for  her  which  made  her  not  one  among  others,  but  io 
some  strange,  sacred  sense  the  only  one  on  earth  to  me. 

And  as  T  recovered  came  the  hopes  I  must  ne\er  more 


FRIEDRIOWS  CnnONIClE.  \si 

recall,  wliich  made  all  life  like  the  woods  in  spring,  and 
my  heart  like  a  full  riA-er  set  free  from  its  icefetters,  and 
rushing  throiigh  the  world  in  a  tide  of  blessing. 

I  tlionght  of  a  home  which  might  be,  I  thought  of  a  sac- 
rament wliich  should  transubstantiate  all  life  into  a  symbol 
of  heaven,  a  home  which  was  to  be  j^eacefnl  and  sacred  aa 
a  cliurch,  because  of  the  meek,  and  pure,  and  heavenly 
creature  who  should  minister  there. 

And  then  came  to  me  tliat  terrible  vision  of  a  city  smit- 
ten by  the  pestilence,  whence  I  liad  brought  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  impulse  I  had  liad  in  tlie  forest  at  midnight,  and 
more  than  once  since  then,  to  take  the  monastic  vows.  I 
felt  I  was  like  Jonah  flying  fi'om  God ;  yet  still  I  hesitated 
until  slie  was  stricken.  And  then  I  yielded.  I  vowed  if 
she  were  saved  I  would  become  a  monk. 

Not  till  she  Avas  stricken,  whose  loss  would  have  made 
the  whole  world  a  blank  to  me, — not  till  the  sacrifice  was 
worthless, — did  I  make  it.  And  will  God  accept  such  a 
sacrifice  as  tliis  ? 

At  least  brother  Martin  had  not  this  to  reproach  himself 
with,  lie  did  not  delay  his  conversion  imtil  his  whole 
being  h.id  become  possessed  by  an  image  no  pi'ayers  can 
erase ;  nay,  which  prayer  and  holy  meditations,  or  heaven 
itself,  only  rivet  on  the  heart,  as  the  purest  reflection  of 
heaven  memory  can  recall. 

Brother  Martin,  at  least,  did  not  trifle  v,^ith  his  vocation 
until  too  late. 


VII. 


ELSE'S     STORV, 


Januanj  23. 
IT  is  too  plain  now  wliy  Fritz  would  not  look 
back  as  he  went  down  the  street.     He  thought 
it  would  be  looking  back  fiomthe  kingdom  of 
='^"'^'  God. 

The  kingdom  of  God,  then,  is  the  cloister,  and  the  world, 
xve  are  that  —  father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  friends, 
home,  that  is  the  world.  I  shall  never  understand  it.  For 
if  all  my  younger  brothers  say  is  true,  either  all  the  priests 
and  monks  are  not  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  or  the  kingdom 
of  God  is  strangely  governed  here  on  earth. 

Fritz* was  helping  us  all  so  much.  He  would  have  been 
the  stay  of  our  parencs'  old  age.  He  was  the  example 
and  admiration  of  the  boys,  and  tlie  pride  and  delight  of 
us  all ;  and  to  m^. !  My  heart  grows  so  bitter  when  I 
write  about  it,  I  seem  to  hate  and  reproach  everyone. 
Everyone  but  Frit2  ;  I  ciumot,  of  course,  hate  him.  But 
why  was  all  tliat  was  gentlest  and  noblest  in  him  made  to 
work  towards  this  last  dreadful  stepV 

If  our  father  had  only  been  more  successful  Fritz  need 

not  have  entei-ed  on  that  monastic  foundation  at  Erlurt, 

which  made  his  conscience  so  sensitive  ;  if  ray  mother  had 

only  not  been  so  religious,  and  taught  us  to  reverence 

(1«2) 


ELSE'S  STOUT.  I2t 

Aunt  Agnes  as  so  miuch  hotter  than  herself,  he  might 
never  have  tliought  of  the  monastic  hfe  ;  if  I  liad  been 
more  religious  he  might  have  confided  more  in  me,  and  I 
might  have  induced  him  to  pause,  at  least  a  few  years,  be- 
fore taking  this  unalterable  step.  If  Eva  had  not  been  so 
wilful,  and  insisted  on  braving  the  contagion  from  me,  she 
might  never  have  been  stricken,  and  that  vow  might  not 
yet,  might  never  have  been  taken.  If  God  had  not  caused 
him  so  innocently  to  bring  the  pestilerce  among  i;s  !  But 
I  must  not  dare  to  say  another  word  of  complaint,  or  it 
will  become  blasphemy.  Doubtless  it  is  God  who  has 
willed  to  bring  ail  this  misery  on  us,  and  to  rebel  against 
God  is  a  deadly  sin.  As  Aunt  Agnes  said,  "The  Lord  is 
a  jealous  God,"  he  will  not  suifer  us  to  make  idols.  "We 
must  love  him  best,  first,  alone.  "We  must  make  a  great 
void  in  our  heart,  by  renouncing  all  earthly  aifections,  that 
he  may  fill  it.  "We  must  mortify  the  flesh,  that  Ave  may 
live.  What  then  is  the  flesh?  I  suppose  all  our  natural 
affections,  which  the  monks  call  our  fleshly  lusts.  These 
Fritz  has  renounced.  Then  if  all  our  natural  affections  are 
to  die  in  us,  what  is  to  live  in  us  ?  The  "  spiritual  life," 
they  say  in  some  of  the  sermons,  and  the  love  of  God. 
But  are  not  my  natural  affections  my  heart ;  and  if  I  am 
not  to  love  God  with  my  heart,  with  the  heart  with  which 
I  love  my  father  and  mother,  what  am  I  to  love  him  with  ? 

It  seems  to  me,  the  leve  of  God  to  us  is  something  quite 
diffcM-ent  from  any  human  being's  love  to  us. 

WTien  human  beings  love  us  they  like  to  have  us  with 
them  ;  they  delight  to  make  us  happy ;  they  delight  in  our 
being  hajipy,  whether  they  make  us  so  or  not,  if  it  is  a  right 
ha|)piness,  a  happiness  that  does  us  good. 

But  with  God's  love  it  must  be  quite  difterent.  lie 
warns  us  not  on  any  account  to  come  too  near  him.  We 
have  to  place  priests,  and  saints,  and  penances  between  U8 
and  him,  and  then  apprrtach  him  with  the  greatest  cautioIJ^ 


,.i4  THE  SCnONBERG-VOTTA  FAMILY. 

lest,  nf.oi  All,  it  should  be  in  the  wrong  way,  and  he  should 
be  angry.  And  iustead  of  delighting  in  our  happiness,  he 
is  never  sc  much  pieased  as  when  we  renounce  all  the  hap- 
piness of  our  life,  and  make  other  people  wretched  in  doing 
so,  as  Fritz,  our  ov/n  Fritz,  has  just  done. 

Therefore,  also,  no  doubt,  the  love  God  requires  we 
sliould  feel  for  him  is  isomething  entirely  different  from  the 
love  we  give  each  otiier  It  must,  I  suppose,  be  a  serious, 
severe,  calm  adoration,  too  sublime  to  give  either  joy  or 
sorrow,  such  as  has  left  its  stamp  on  Aunt  Agnes'  grave, 
impassive  face.  I  can  never,  never  even  attempt  to  attain 
to  it.     Certainly  at  present  I  have  no  time  to  think  of  it. 

■^rhank  heaven,  thou  iovest  still,  mother  of  mercy ;  in  thy 
face  there  have  been  tears,  real,  bitter,  human  tears ;  in 
thine  eyes  there  have  been  smiles  of  joy,  real,  simple,  hu- 
man joy.  Thou  Avilt  understand  and  have  pity.  Yet,  oh, 
couldst  not  thou,  even  thou,  sweet  mother,  have  reminded 
him  of  the  mother  ho  has  left  to  battle  on  alone  ?  thou  who 
art  a  mother,  and  didst  bend  over  a  cradle,  and  hadst  a 
little  lowly  home  at  Nazareth  once? 

But  I  know  my  own  mother  would  not  eve:i  herself  Lavo 
iiUeied  a  word  to  keep  Fritz  back.  When  first  we  heard 
ot'  it,  and  I  entreated  her  to  write  and  remonstrate,  al- 
Ui'jugh  the  tears  Avere  streaming  from  her  eyes,  she  said, 
"  Not  a  word.  Else,  not  a  syllable.  Shall  not  I  give  him 
dp  freely  to  him  who  gave  him  to  me.  God  might  have 
called  him  away  from  earth  altogether  when  he  lay  smitten 
ftith  the  plague,  and  shall  I  grudge  him  to  the  cloister ?  1 
shall  see  him  again,"  she  added,  "once  or  twice  at  least. 
^Vhen  he  is  consecrated  priest,  shall  I  not  have  joy  then, 
and  see  him  in  his  white  robes  at  the  altar,  and,  perhaps, 
even  receive  my  Creator  from  his  \iaud8." 

"  Once  or  twice  ! — O  mother !  "  I  sobbed,  and  in  church, 
amongst  hundreds  of  others.  '•'  What  pleasure  will  ther* 
i>s  in  that  ?  " 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


195 


"  Else,"  she  said  softy,  but  with  a  firmness  unusual  with 
her,  "  m\  child,  do  not  say  another  word.  Once  I  myseli 
had  some  faint  inclination  to  the  cloister,  which,  if  I  had 
nourished  it,  might  have  grown  into  a  vocation.  But  1 
saw  your  father,  and  I  neglected  it.  And  see  what  troubles 
my  children  have  had  to  bear !  Has  there  not  also  been  a 
kind  of  fatal  spell  on  all  your  father's  inventions  ?  Per- 
haps God  '\\ill  at  last  accept  from  me  in  my  son  what  I 
withheld  in  myself,  and  will  be  pacified  towards  us,  and 
send  us  better  days;  and  then  your  father's  great  inven- 
tion will  be  completed  yet.  But  do  not  say  anything  of 
what  I  told  you  to  him." 

I  have  never  seen  our  father  so  troubled  about  any- 
thing. 

"  Just  as  he  was  able  to  understand  ray  projects !  "  he 
uaid,  "  and  I  would  have  bequeathed  them  all  to  him !  " 

For  some  days  he  never  touched  a  model ;  but  now  he 
has  crept  back  to  his  old  folios  and  his  instruments,  and 
tells  us  there  was  something  in  Fritz's  horoscope  which 
might  have  prej^ared  us  for  this,  had  he  only  understood 
It  a  little  before.  However,  this  discovery,  although  too 
late  to  warn  us  of  the  blow,  consoles  our  father,  and  he 
has  resumed  his  usual  occupations. 

Eva  looks  very  pale  and  fragile,  partly,  no  doubt,  from 
the  effects  of  the  pestilence ;  but  when  first  the  rumoux 
reached  us,  I  sought  some  sympathy  from  her,  and  said, 
"  O  Eva,  how  strange  it  seems,  when  Fritz  always  thought 
of  us  before  himself,  to  abandon  us  all  thus  without  one 
word  of  Avarning." 

"  Cousin  Else,"  she  said,  "  Fritz  has  done  now  as  he  al- 
ways does.  He  han  thought  of  us  first,  I  am  as  sare  of  it 
aii  if  I  could  hear  hint  say  so.  He  thought  he  would  servfl 
118  best  by  leaving  us  thus,  or  he  would  never  have  left  us." 

She  understood  him  best  of  all,  as  she  so  often  does. 
When  his  letter  came  to   our  mother,  it  gave  just  the 


126  TEE  SCndNBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

reasons  she  had  often  told  me  she  was  sure  had  mcrred 
him 

Ii  is  difficult  to  tell  Avhat  Eva  feels,  because  of  that 
strange  inward  peace  in  her  which  seems  always  to  flow 
under  all  her  other  feelings. 

I  have  not  seen  her  shed  any  tears  at  all ;  and  whilst  I 
can  scarcely  bear  to  enter  our  dear  old  lumber-room,  or  to 
do  anything  I  did  with  him,  her  great  delight  seems  to  be 
to  read  every  book  he  liked,  and  to  learn  and  repeat  every 
hymn  she  learned  with  him. 

Eva  and  the  mother  cling  very  closely  together.     She 
will  scarcely  let  my  mother  do  any  household  work,  but 
insists  on  sharing  every  laborious  task  which  hitherto  we 
have  kept  her  from,  because  of  her  sliglit  and  delicat 
frame. 

It  is  true  I  rise  early  to  save  tbem  all  the  work  I  can 
because  they  have  neither  of  them  half  the  strength  I  have, 
and  I  enjoy  stirring  about.  Thoughts  come  so  much  more 
bitterly  on  me  when  1  am  sitting  still. 

But  Avhen  I  am  kneading  the  dough,  or  pounding  the 
clothes  with  stones  in  the  stream  on  washing-days,  I  feel 
as  I  were  pounding  at  all  my  perplexities,  and  that  makes 
my  hands  stronger  and  my  perplexities  more  shadowy, 
until  even  now  I  find  myself  often  singing  as  I  am  wring- 
ing the  clothes  by  the  stream.  It  is  so  pleasant  in  the 
winter  sunshine,  with  the  brook  babbling  among  the  rushes 
and  cresses,  and  little  Thekla  prattling  by  my  side,  and 
pretending  to  help. 

But  when  I  have  finished  my  day's  work,  and  come  into 
the  house,  I  find  the  mother  and  Eva  sitting  close  side  by 
side ;  and  perhaps  Eva  is  silent,  and  my  mother  brushes 
tears  away  as  they  fall  on  her  knitting ;  but  when  they 
look  up,  their  faces  are  calm  and  peaceful,  and  then  I  kno\i 
khey  have  been  talking  about  Fritz. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  t%y 

Eisenach,  Feliruary  2. 

YESTERDAY  aflevnoon  I  found  Eva  translating  a 
Latia  liymn  lie  loved  to  our  mother,  and  then  she 
Bang  it  througli  in  iier  swe©t  clear  voice.  It  was  about  the 
'iear,  dear  country  in  heaven,  and  Jerusalem  the  Golden. 

]n  the  evening  I  said  to  her — 

"  O  Eva,  how  can  you  bear  to  sing  the  hymns  Fnt* 
loied  so  dearly,  and  I  could  not  sing  a.  line  steadily  of  any 
song  he  had  cared  to  hear  me  sing  ?  And  he  delighted 
always  so  much  to  listen  to  you.  His  voice  would  echo 
never,  never  more '  to  every  note  I  sung,  and  thy  songs 
would  all  end  in  sobs." 

"  But  I  do  not  feel  separated  from  Fritz,  Cousin  Else," 
6Jie  said,  "  and  I  never  shall.  Instead  of  hearing  that 
melancholy  chant  you  think  of,  '  neve*",  never  more,'  echo 
from  all  the  hymns  he  loved,  I  a' ways  seem  to  hear  his 
voice  responding,  'For  ever  and  for  evermore.'  And  I 
think  of  the  time  when  we  shall  sing  them  together 
again." 

"Do  you  mean  in  heaven,  Eva,'  I  said,  "that  is  so 
very  far  olf,  and  if  we  ever  reach  it — " 

"  N  ot  so  very  far  off,  Cousin  Else,"  she  said.  "  I  often 
think  it  is  very  near.  If  it  Avere  not  so,  how  could  the 
angels  be  so  much  Avith  us  and  yet  Avith  Grod  ?  " 

"  ]>ut  life  seems  so  long,  noAV  Fiiti  is  gone." 

"  Not  so  very  long,  Cousin  Else,"  she  said.  "  I  often 
think  it  may  be  very  short,  and  oftcii  1  pray  it  may." 

*'  Eva."  I  exclaimed,  "  you  surely  don't  pray  that  you 
may  die  V  " 

"Wliy  not,"  she  said,  very  quietly.  "  I  think  if  God 
took  us  to  himself,  we  might  helo  those  Ave  love  bettoi 
there  than  at  Eisenach,  or  perhaps  even  in  the  convent. 
And  it  is  there  avc  shall  meet  again,  and  there  are  never 
any  partings.  My  father  told  rue  so,"  she  added,  "  before 
he  died." 


128  *  TEE  8\Jn6NBERG-00TTA  FAMILY. 

Then  1  understood  how  Eva  mourns  for  Fritz,  and  why 
8he  does  not  weep  ;  but  I  could  only  say — 

'•  O  Eva,  don't  pray  to  die.  There  are  all  the  saints  in 
heaven :   and  you  help  us  so  much  more  here." 

Fei^uary  8. 

I  CANNOT  feel  at  all  reconciled  to  losing  Fritz,  nor  do 
I  think  I  ever  shall.  Like  all  the  other  troubles,  it 
was  no  doubt  meant  to  do  me  good  ;  but  it  does  me  none, 
I  am  sure,  although,  of  course,  that  is  my  fault.  What  did 
me  good  was  being  happy,  as  I  was  when  Fritz  came 
1)ack ;  and  that  is  passed  for  ever. 

My  great  comfort  is  our  grandmother.  The  mother  and 
Eva  look  on  everything  from  such  sublime  heights  ;  but 
my  grandmother  feels  more  as  I  do.  Often,  indeed,  Bhe 
speaks  very  severely  of  Fritz,  which  always  does  mo  ^o^A^ 
because,  of  course,  I  defend  him,  and  then  she  becomea 
angry,  and  says  we  are  an  incomprehensible  family,  and 
have  the  strangest  ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  from  my 
father  downward,  she  ever  heard  -of;  and  then  I  grc^ 
angry,  and  say  my  father  is  the  best  and  wisest  man  in  the 
Electoral  States.  Then  our  grandmother  begins  to  lament 
over  her  poor,  dear  daughter,  and  the  life  she  has  led,  and 
rejoices,  in  a  plaintive  voice,  that  she  herself  has  nearly 
done  with  the  world  altogether ;  and  then  I  try  to  com 
toi't  her,  and  say  that  I  am  sure  there  is  not  much  in  the 
world  to  make  any  one  wish  to  stay  in  it ;  nud  having 
reached  this  point  of  despondency,  we  both  cry  and  em- 
brace each  other,  and  she  says  I  am  a  poor,  good  child, 
and  Fritz  was  always  the  delight  of  her  heart,  which  I 
know  very  well ; — and  thus  Ave  comfort  eacli  other.  TVg 
have,  moreover,  solemnly  resolved,  our  grandmother  and 
I,  that,  whatever  comes  of  it,  we  Avdll  never  call  Fritz  any- 
thing but  Fritz. 

"  Brother  Sebastian,  indeed  !  "  she  said ;  "  your  mothe? 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


l»9 


might  as  well  take  a  new  husband  as  yonr  brotLer  a  new 
name  !  Was  not  she  married,  and  was  not  he  christened 
m  chnrch  ?  I^  not  Friedrich  a  good,  honest  name,  which 
nundreds  of  your  ancestors  have  borne  ?  And  shall  we 
call  him  instead  a  heathen  foreign  name,  that  none  of  your 
kindred  were  ever  known  by  ?  " 

"  Not  heathen,  grandmother,"  I  venture  to  suggest- 
"  You  remember  telling  us  of  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Sebas- 
tian by  the  heathen  emperor  ?  " 

"  Do  you  contradict  me,  child  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Did 
I  not  knoAV  the  whole  martyrology  before  your  mother 
was  born  ?  I  say  it  is  a  heathen  name.  No  blame  to  the 
saint  if  his  parents  were  poor  benighted  Pagans,  and  knew 
no  better  name  to  give  him  :  but  that  our  Fritz  should 
adopt  it  instead  of  his  own  is  a  disgrace.  My  lips  at  least 
are  too  old  to  learn  such  new-fixshioned  nonsense.  I  shall 
call  him  the  name  I  called  him  at  the  font  and  in  his  cradle, 
and  no  other." 

Yes,  Fritz ;  Fritz  he  is  to  us,  and  shall  be  always. 
Fritz  in  our  hearts  till  death. 

February  15. 

WE  have  just  heard  that  Fritz  has  finished  his  first 
month  of  probation,  and  has  been  invested  with 
the  frock  of  the  novice.  I  hate  to  think  of  his  thick,  dark, 
waving  hair  clipped  in  the  circle  of  the  tonsure.  But  the 
worst  part  of  it  is  the  effect  of  his  becoming  a  monk  has 
had  on  the  other  boys,  Christopher  and  Pollux. 

They,  who  before  this  thought  Fritz  the  model  of  every- 
lliing  good  and  great,  seem  repelled  from  all  religion 
now.     I  have  difficulty  even  in  getting  them  to  church. 

Christopher  said  to  me  the  other  day, — 

"  Else,  why  is  a  man  who  suddenly  deserts  his  family  to 
become  a  soldier  called  a  villain,  Avhile  the  man  who  de- 
serts those  who  (lc)>end  on  him  to  become  a  monk  is  called 
a  sainl  ?"' 

G* 


1 30  TEE  SCHONBERO  COTTA  FAMIL  7. 

It  is  veiy  unfortunate  the  boys  should  come  to  me  ^  ith 
their  religious  perplexities,  because  I  am  so  perplexed  my 
self,  I  have  no  idea  how  to  answer  them.  I  generally  ad- 
vise them  to  ask  Eva. 

This  time  I  could  only  say,  as  our  grandmother  had  £0 
often  said  to  me, — 

"  You  must  wait  till  you  are  older,  and  then  you  will 
miderstand."  But  I  added,  "  Of  coarse  it  is  quite  diiFer- 
ent :  one  leaves  his  home  for  God,  and  the  other  for  tho 
world." 

But  Christopher  is  the  worst,  and  he  continued, — 

"  Sister  Else,  I  don't  like  the  monks  at  all.  You  and 
Eva  and  our  mother  have  no  idea  how  wicked  many  of 
them  are.  Reinhardt  says  he  has  seen  them  drunk  often, 
and  heard  them  swear,  and  that  some  of  them  make  a  jest 
even  of  the  mass,  and  the  priests'  houses  are  not  fit  for  any 
honest  maiden  to  visit,  and, — " 

"  Reinhardt  is  a  bad  boy,"  I  said,  colouring ;  "  and  I 
have  often  told  you  1  don't  want  to  hear  anything  he  says." 

"  But  1,  at  all  events,  shall  never  become  a  monk  or  a 
priest,"  retorted  Christopher ;  "  I  think  the  merchants  are 
better.  Women  cannot  understand  about  these  things," 
he  added,  loftily,  "  and  it  is  better  they  should  not ;  but  I 
know ;  and  I  intend  to  be  a  merchant  or  a  soldier." 

Christopher  and  Pollux  are  fifteen,  and  Fritz  is  two-and- 
tweuty ;  but  he  never  talked  in  that  lofty  way  to  me  about 
women  not  understandmg ! 

It  did  make  me  indignant  to  hear  Christopher,  who  h 
always  tearing  his  clothes,  and  getting  into  scrapes,  and 
perplexing  us  to  get  hmi  out  of  them,  comparing  himself 
with  Fritz,  and  looking  down  on  his  sisters;  and  I  said, 
"  It  is  only  l>oijs  who  talk  scornfully  of  women.  Men,  true 
men,  honoui  Avomen." 

"The  monks  do  not,"  re+,orted  Christopher  "I  have 
heard  them  sav  t,]u)i<rs  myself  worse  than  I  have  ever  said 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


I3» 


tbout  Any  woman.  Only  last  Sunday,  did  not  Fatliei 
Bonif:voe  say  halt'  the  mischief  in  the  world  had  been  done 
nearly  all  by  women,  from  Eve  to  Helen  and  Cleopatra  ?" 
"  Do  not  mention  our  mother  Eve  with  those  heathens, 
Christopher,"  said  our  grandmother,  coming  to  my  rescue, 
'■•.)m  her  corner  by  the  stove.  "  Eve  is  in  the  Holy  Scrip- 
wiires,  and  many  of  these  pagans  are  not  fit  for  people  ic 
ipeak  of.  Half  the  saints  are  women,  you  know  very  well. 
Peasants  and  traders,"  she  added  sublimely,  "  may  talk 
slightingly  of  women  ;  but  no  man  can  be  a  true  knight 
who  does," 

"  The  monks  do,"  muttered  Christopher,  doggedly, 
"I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  monks,"  rejoined  our 
grandmother  tartly.     And  accepting  this  imprudent  con- 
cession of  our  grandmother's,  Christopher  retired  from  the 
contest, 

March  25, 
HAVE  just  been  looking  at  two  letters  addressed  to 
Father  Johann  Braun,  one  of  our  Eisenach  priests,  by 
Martin  Luther.  They  were  addressed  to  him  as  the  holy 
and  venerable  priest  of  Christ  and  of  Mary.  So  much  1 
could  understand,  and  also  that  he  calls  himself  Brother 
Martin  Luther,  not  Brother  Augustine,  a  name  he  assumed 
on  first  entering  the  cloister.  Therefore  certainly  I  may 
1,'all  our  Fritz,  Brother  Friedrich  Cotta. 

March  29,  1510. 

A  YOUNG  man  was  at  Aunt  Ursula  Cotta's-  this  evea- 
ing,  who  told  us  strange  things  about  the  doings  at 
Annaberg. 

Dr.  Tetzel  has  been  there  two  years,  selling  the  papal 

indulgences  to  the  people;  and  lately,  out  of  regard,  he 

says,  to  the  great  piety  of  the  German  people,  he  has  no- 

flnced  their  pi-ice.  ^ 

Thore  was  a  gi-eat  deal  of  discussion  about  it,  whicL  1 


132  THE  SUnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

rather  regretted  the  boys  were  present  to  hear.  My  father 
said  iiululgences  did  not  mean  forgiveness  of  sins,  but  only 
remission  of  certain  penances  which  the  Church  had  im- 
posed. But  the  young  man  from  Annaberg  told  us  that 
Dr.  John  Tetzel  solemnly  assured  the  people,  that  since  it 
ft'as  impossible  for  them,  on  account  of  their  sins,  to  make 
satisfaction  to  God  by  their  works,  our  Holy  Father  the 
Pope,  who  has  the  control  of  all  the  treasury  of  merits  ac- 
cumulated by  the  Church  throughout  the  ages,  now  gra- 
ciously sells  those  merits  to  any  who  Avill  buy,  and  thereby 
bestows  on  them  forgiveness  of  sins  (even  of  sins  which  no 
other  priest  can  absolve),  and  a  certain  entrance  into  eter- 
nal life. 

The  young  man  said,  also,  that  the  great  red  cross  has 
been  erected  in  the  nave  of  the  principal  church,  with  the 
crown  of  thorns,  the  nails,  and  spear  suspended  from  it, 
and  that  at  times  it  has  been  granted  to  the  people  even 
to  see  the  blood  of  the  Crucified  flow  from  the  cross.  Be- 
neath this  cross  are  the  banners  of  the  Church,  and  tho 
papal  standard,  with  the  triple  crown.  Before  it  is  th:j 
large,  strong  iron  money  chest.  On  one  side  stands  the 
pulpit,  where  Dr.  Tetzel  preaches  daily,  and  exhorts  the 
people  to  purchase  this  inestimable  favour  while  yet  there 
is  time,  for  themselves  and  their  relations  in  purgatory, — 
and  translates  the  long  parchment  mandate  of  the  Lord 
Pope,  with  the  papal  seals  hanging  from  it.  On  the  other 
side  is  a  table,  where  sit  several  priests,  with  pen,  ink,  and 
writing-desks,  selling  the  indulgence  tickets,  and  counting 
the  money  into  boxes.  Lately,  he  told  us,  not  only  havo 
the  prices  been  reduced,  but  at  the  end  of  the  letter  aflixed 
to  the  churches,  it  is  added,  ^'■Pauperibus  dentnr  gratis" 

"  Freely  to  the  poor  !"  That  certainly  would  suit  us  ! 
And  if  I  had  only  time  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Annaberg, 
if  this  is  the  kind  of  r«:!ligion  that  pleases  God,  it  certainly 
might  be  attainable  ever)  for  me. 


ELBE'S  STORY. 


133 


If  Fjitz  bail  only  known  it  before,  he  need  not  have 
made  that  miserable  vow.  A  journey  to  Annaberg  a\  ould 
have  more  tlian  answered  the  purpose. 

Only,  if  the  Pope  has  such  inestimable  treasures  at  his 
disjK)sa!,  wh}-  could  he  not  always  give  them  freely  to  the 
poor,  always  and  everywhere? 

]jut  I  know  it  is  a  sin  to  question  what  the  Lord  Pope 
ioes.  I  might  almost  as  well  question  Avhat  the  Lord  God 
Almighty  does.  For  he  also,  who  gave  those  treasures  to 
the  Pojjc,  is  he  not  everywhere,  and  could  he  not  give 
them  freely  to  us  direct  ?  It  is  plain  these  are  questions 
too  high  for  me. 

I  am  not  the  only  one  perplexed  by  those  indulgences, 
howe\er.  ]\Iy  mother  says  it  is  not  the  way  she  was 
taught,  and  she  had  rather  keep  to  the  old  paths.  Eva 
said,  "  If  I  were  the  Lord  Pope,  and  had  such  a  treasure, 
I  think  I  could  not  help  instantly  leaving  my  palace  and 
my  beautiffd  Rome,  and  going  over  the  mountains  and 
over  the  seas,  into  every  city  and  every  village  ;  every  \m\ 
in  the  forests,  and  every  room  in  the  lowest  streets,  thav 
none  might  miss  the  blessing,  although  I  had  to  walk  bare- 
foot, and  never  saw  holy  Rome  again." 

"But  then,"  said  our  fother,  "the  great  church  at  St. 
Peter's  would  never  be  built.  It  is  on  that,  you  know, 
the  indulgence  money  is  to  be  spent," 

"  But  Jerusalem  the  Golden  would  be  built,  Uncle 
Cotta,"  said  Eva;  "  and  would  not  that  be  better?" 

"We  had  better  not  talk  about  il,  Eva,"  said  the 
mother.  "The  holy  Jerusalem  is  being  built;  and  I  sup- 
pose  there  are  many  different  ways  to  the  same  eud. 
Only  I  like  the  way  I  know  best." 

The  boys,  I  regret  to  say,  had  made  many  irreverent 
gestures  din-ing  this  conversation  about  the  indulgences, 
and  afterw aids  I  had  to  speak  to  them. 

"Sister  Else,"  said   Christopher,   "it   ia   quite  useless 


J34  THE  8CnGN'2EIlO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

talking  to  me.  I  hate  the  monks,  and  all  belonging  to 
Uiem.  And  I  don't  believe  a  word  they  say — at  least,  not 
because  they  say  it.  The  boys  at  school  say  this  Dr.  Tet- 
/el  is  a  very  bad  man,  and  a  great  liar.  Last  week  Kein- 
hardt  told  us  something  he  did,  which  will  show  yoii  what 
he  is.  One  day  he  promised  to  show  the  people  a  featlier 
which  the  devil  plucked  out  of  the  wing  of  the  archangel 
]Michacl.  Keinhardt  says  he  supposes  the  devil  gave  it 
Dr.  Tetzel.  However  that  may  be,  during  the  night  some 
students  in  jest  found  their  way  to  his  relic-box,  stole  th<» 
feather,  and  replaced  it  by  some  coals.  The  next  da), 
when  Dr.  Tetzel  had  been  preaching  fervently  for  a  long 
time  on  the  wonders  of  this  feather,  when  he  opened  the 
box  there  was  nothing  ia  it  but  charcoal.  But  he  was  not 
to  be  disconcerted.  He  merely  said,  '  I  have  taken  the 
wrong  box  of  relics,  I  perceive;  these  are  some  most  sacred 
cinders — the  relics  of  the  holy  body  of  St.  Laurence,  who 
was  roasted  on  a  gridiron.'  " 

"  Schoolboy's  stories,"  said  I. 

"  They  are  as  good  as  monks'  stories,  at  all  events,"  re- 
joined Christopher. 

I  resolved  to  see  if  Pollux  was  as  deeply  possessed  with 
this   irreverent  spirit  as   Christopher,  and   therefore  this     ; 
morning,  when  I  found  him  alone,  I  said,  "  Pollux,  you    J 
used  to  love  Fritz  so  dearly,  you  would  not  surely  take  up    \ 
thoughts  which  would  pani  him  so  deeply  if  he  knew  of  it."    \ 

"  I  do  love  Fritz,"  Pollux  replied,  "  but  I  can  never  think    j 
he  was  right  in  leaving  us  all ;  and  I  like  the  rehgion  of    i 
the  Creeds  and  the  Ten  Commandments  better  than  that 
of  the  monks." 

Daily,  liourly  I  feely  the  loss  of  Fritz.  It  is  not  half  aa 
much  the  money  he  earned ;  although,  of  course,  that  helped 
u<  —we  can  and  do  struggle  on  without  that.  It  is  the. 
iTifluence  he  had  over  the  boys.  They  felt  he  was  before 
t!:om  in  the  same  race  ;  and  when  he  remonstrated  with 


ELSE'S  STOEY.  13^ 

tbera  about  anything,  they  listened.  But  if  1  l»lauie  them, 
tliey  think  it  is  only  a  woman's  ignorance,  oi  a  woman's 
supei'stition, — and  boys  cannot  be  like  women.  And  now 
it  is  the  same  with  Fritz.  He  is  removed  into  another 
spnere,  Avhich  is  not  theirs  ;  and  if  I  remind  thera  of  Avhat 
he  did  or  said,  they  say,  "  Yes,  Fritz  thought  so  ;  but  you 
know  he  has  become  a  monk ;  but  we  do  not  intend  ever 
to  be  monks,  and  the  religion  of  monks  and  laymen  are 
different  things." 

April  2. 

THE  spring  is  come  again.  I  wonder  if  it  sends  the 
thrill  of  joy  into  Fritz's  cell  at  Erfurt  that  it  does 
into  all  the  forests  around  us  here,  and  into  my  heart ! 

I  suppose  there  are  trees  near  him,  and  birds — little, 
happy  birds — making  their  nests  among  them,  as  they  do 
in  our  yard,  and  singing  as  they  woik. 

But  the  birds  are  not  monks.  Their  nests  are  little 
homes,  and  they  wander  freely  whither  they  will,  only 
b'-otight  back  by  love.  Perhaps  Fritz  does  not  like  to 
listen  to  the  birds  now,  because  they  remind  him  of  home 
and  our  long  spring  days  in  the  forest.  Perhaps,  too,  they 
are  part  of  the  world  he  has  renounced,  and  he  must  be 
dead  to  the  world. 

April  3. 

WE  have  had  a  long  day  in  the  foiest,  gathering 
sticks  and  dry  twigs.  Every  creature  seemed  so 
happy  there !  It  was  such  a  holiday  to  watch  the  ants 
roofing  their  nests  with  fir  twigs,  and  the  birds  flying 
hither  and  thither  with  food  for  their  nestlings ;  and  to 
hear  the  wood-pigeons,  which  Fritz  alwafys  said  were  like 
Eva,  cooing  softly  in  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

At  midday  we  fiat  down  in  a  clearing  of  the  forest,  to 
enjoy  the  m.':il  we  had  brought  with  us.     A  liltle,  quiel 


1 36  THE  SCHONBEIx  G-  CO TTA  FAMl  L  T. 

brook  prattled  near  us,  of  which  we  drank,  and  the  deli- 
cate young  twigs  on  the  topmost  boughs  of  the  dark,  ma- 
jestic  pines  trembled  softly,  as  if  for  joy,  in  the  breeze. 

As  we  rested,  we  told  each  other  stories, — Pollux,  wild 
tales  of  demon  hunts,  Avhich  flew,  with  the  baying  of 
demon  dogs,  through  these  very  forests  at  midnight.  Then, 
is  the  children  began  to  look  fearfully  aroimd,  and  shiver, 
even  at  mid-day,  while  they  listened,  Christopher  delighted 
them  with  quaint  stories  of  wolves  in  sheeps'  clothing 
politely  offering  themselves  to  the  farmer  as  shepherds, 
which,  I  suspect,  were  from  Reniecke  Fuchs,  or  some  such 
dangerous  book,  but,  without  the  application,  were  very 
aiijusing. 

Criemhild  and  Atlantis  had  their  stories  of  Kobolds, 
Avho  played  strange  tricks  in  the  cow-stalls  ;  and  of  Riibo- 
'<ahl  and  the  mis-shapen  dwarf  gnomes,  who  guarded  the 
treasures  of  gold  and  silver  in  the  glittering  caves  under 
the  mountains ;  and  of  the  elves,  who  danced  beside  the 
brooks  at  twilight. 

"  And  I,"  said  loving  little  Thekla,  "  always  want  to 
see  poor  Nix,  the  water-sprite,  who  cries  by  the  streams 
at  moonlight,  and  lets  his  tears  mix  with  the  waters, 
because  he  has  no  soul,  and  he  wants  to  live  for  ever,  I 
should  like  to  give  him  half  mine." 

We  should  all  of  us  have  been  afraid  to  speak  of  these 
creatures,  in  their  own  haunts  among  the  pines,  if  the  sun 
had  not  been  high  in  the  heavens.  Even  as  it  was,  1 
began  to  feel  a  little  \measy,  and  I  wished  to  turn  the  con- 
A  ei'sation  from  these  elves  and  sprites,  who,  many  think, 
are  the  spirits  of  the  old  heathen  gods,  who  linger  about 
their  haunts.  One  reason  why  people  think  so  is,  that 
Ihej  dare  not  venture  within  the  sound  of  the  church 
bells ;  which  makes  some,  again,  think  they  are  worse 
than  poor,  shadowy,  dethroned  heathen  gods,  and  had, 
indeed,  better  be  never  mentioned  at  all.     I  thought  I 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


137 


could  not  do  bett.er  than  tell  the  legend  of  my  beloved 
giant  OfFerus,  Avho  became  Christophe''  and  a  saint  by  car- 
tying  the  holy  child  across  the  river. 

Thekla  wondered  if  her  favourite  Nix  could  be  saved 
in  the  same  way.  She  longed  to  see  him  and  tell  him 
about  it. 

But  Eva  had  still  her  story  to  tell,  and  she  related  to  a 
her  legend  of  St.  Catherine. 

"  St.  Catherine,"  she  said,  "  was  a  lady  of  royal  birth, 
the  only  child  of  the  king  and  queen  of  Egypt.  Her 
parents  were  heathens,  but  they  died  and  left  her  an 
■orphan  when  she  was  only  fourteen.  She  was  more  beau- 
tiful than  any  of  the  ladies  of  her  court,  and  richer  than 
any  princess  in  the  world  ;  but  she  did  not  care  for  pomp, 
(>v  dress,  or  all  her  precious  things.  God's  golden  stars 
seemed  to  her  more  magnificent  than  all  the  sj)lendour  of 
her  kingdom,  and  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  palace,  and 
studied  philosophy  and  the  stars  until  she  grew  wiser  than 
all  the  wise  men  of  the  East. 

"  But  one  day  the  Diet  of  Egypt  met,  and  resolved  that 
the^r  young  queen  must  be  persuaded  to  mai'ry.  They 
sent  a  deputation  to  her  in  her  palace,  who  asked  her,  if 
the}  could  find  a  prince  beautiful  beyond  any,  surpassing 
all  philosophers  in  wisdom,  of  noblest  mind  and  richest 
inheritance,  would  she  marry  him  ?  The  queen  replied, 
'  He  must  be  so  noble  that  all  men  shall  worship  him,  so 
great  that  I  sliall  never  think  I  have  made  him  king,  so 
rich  that  none  shall  ever  say  I  enriched  him,  so  beautiful 
that  the  angels  of  God  shall  desire  to  behold  him.  If  ye 
can  find  such  a  prince,  he  shall  be  my  husband  and  the 
lord  of  my  heart.'  Now,  near  the  queen's  palace  there 
lived  a  poor  old  heimit  in  a  cave,  and  that  very  night  the 
holy  Mother  of  God  appeared  to  him,  and  told  him  the 
T  mg  who  should  be  lord  of  the  queen's  heart  Avas  none 

n'^r  than  her  Son.     Then  the  hei  mit  went  to  the  palaoe 


1 38  TEE  SCnONBERG- CO TTA  FAMIL i . 

and  presented  tlie  queen  wiih  a  picture  of  the  Virgin  an 3 
Child ;  and  when  St.  Catherine  saw  it  her  heart  was  so 
lilled  with  its  holy  beauty  that  she  forgot  her  books,  her 
.spheres,  and  the  stars  ;  Plato  and  Socrates  became  tedioua 
fo  her  as  a  twice-told  tale,  and  she  kept  the  sacred  picture 
always  before  her.  Then  one  night  she  had  a  dream : — 
She  met  on  the  top  of  a  liigh  mountain  a  glorious  com- 
pany of  angels,  clothed  in  white,  with  chaplets  of  white 
lilies.  She  fell  on  her  face  beibre  them,  but  they  said, 
'  Stand  up,  dear  sister  Catherine,  and  be  right  welcome. 
Then  they  led  her  by  the  hand  to  another  company  0/ 
angels  more  glorious  still,  clothed  in  pur}»le  with  chaplets 
of  red  roses.  Before  these,  again,  she  fell  on  her  face, 
dazzled  with  their  glory  ;  but  they  said,  '  Stand  up,  dear 
sister  Catherine  ;  thee  hath  the  King  delighted  to  honour.' 
Then  they  led  her  by  the  hand  to  an  inner  chamber  01  the 
palace  of  heaven,  where  sat  a  queen  in  state  ;  and  the 
angels  said  to  her,  '  Our  most  gracious  sovereign  Lady, 
Empress  of  heaven,  and  Mother  of  the  King  of  Blessed- 
ness, be  pleased  that  we  present  unto  you  this  our  sister, 
whose  name  is  in  the  Book  of  Life,  beseeching  you  to 
accept  her  as  your  daughter  and  handmaid.'  Then  our 
blessed  Lady  rose  and  smiled  graciously,  and  led  St.  Cathe- 
rine to  her  blessed  Son  ;  but  he  turned  from  her,  and  said 
sadly,  '  She  is  not  foir  enough  for  Me.'  Then  St.  Catho 
rinc  awoke,  and  in  lier  heart  all  day  echoed  the  words, 
*  She  is  not  fair  enovgh  for  Me  ;'  and  she  rested  not  until 
she  y^ecame  a  Christian  and  was  baptized.  And  then, 
after  son7e  years,  the  tyrant  Maximin  put  her  to  cruel 
tortures,  and  beheaded  her,  because  she  was  a  Chris 
tian. 

"  But  the  angels  took  her  body,  and  laid  it  in  a  white 
marble  tomb  on  the  top  of  Mount  Sinai,  and  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  received  her  soul,  and  welcomed  her  to  heaven  as 
his  pure  and  spotless  bride— for  at  last  he  had  made  her 


ELS.E'S  STOliT.  139 

fair  enou-yh  for  him  ;  and  so  slie  has  lived  ever  since  in 
heaven,  and  is  the  sister  of  the  angels." 

With  Eva's  legend  we  began  our  work  again ;  and  in 
the  evening,  as  we  returned  with  our  faggots,  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  see  tlie  goats  creeping  on  btfore  the  long  shadows 
which  evening  began  to  throw  from  the  foi  3sts  across  the 
green  valleys. 

The  hymns  which  Eva  sang  seemed  quite  in  tune  with 
everything  else.     I  did  not  want  to  understand  the  words 
everything  seemed  singing  in  words  I  could  not  help  feeJ 

"  God  is  good  to  us  all.  He  p-ives  twigs  to  the  ants, 
and  grain  to  the  birds,  and  makes  the  trees  their  palaces, 
and  teaches  them  to  sing  ;  and  wih  he  not  care  for  you  ?" 

Then  the  boys  were  so  good.  They  never  gave  me  a 
niomeat's  anxiety,  not  even  Christopher,  but  collected 
faggots  twice  as  large  as  ours  in  half  the  time,  and  then 
finished  ours,  and  then  performe'^  all  kinds  of  feats  in 
climbing  trees  and  leaping  bj'ooks,  and  brought  hom'; 
countless  treasures  for  Thekla. 

These  are  the  days  that  always  make  me  feel  so  much 
better,  even  a  little  religious,  and  as  if  I  could  almost  love 
G-od.  It  is  only  when  I  come  back  again  into  the  streets, 
under  tlie  shadow  of  the  nine  monasteries,  and  see  the 
monke  and  priests  in  dark  robes  flitting  siSently  about  with 
downcast  eyes,  that  I  remember  we  are  not  like  the  birds 
or  even  the  ants,  for  they  have  "^ever  sinned,  and  that, 
tli»refore,  God  cannot  care  for  us  and  love  us  as  he  seems 
to  do  the  least  of  his  other  creatures,  until  we  have  be- 
come holy  and  worked  our  way  t>rough  that  great  wall 
of  sin,  whicli  keeps  us  from  him  ard  shadows  all  our  life. 

Eva  does  iiot  feel  this.  As  we  returned  she  laid  her 
basket  down  on  the  threshold  of  St.  George's  Church, 
and  crossing  nerself  with  holy  water,  went  softly  up  to 
Ihe  hiqii  lUarj  aiiJ  there  she  knelt  while  the  lamp  burned 


:  4-0  TEE  SCnONBERO-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  7. 

before  the  Holy  Sacrament.  And  when  I  looked  at  hei 
face  as  slie  rose,  it  was  beaming  with  joy. 

"  Yon  are  happy,  Eva,  in  the  churcli  and  in  the  forest," 
I  said  to  her  as  we  went  home,  "  you  seem  at  home  every, 
where." 

"  Is  not  God  everywhere  ?"  she  said  ;  "  and  has  lie  no*» 
loved  th(3  world  ?" 

"  But  our  sins ./"  I  said. 

"  Have  we  not  the  Saviour  ?"  she  said,  bowing  her 
head. 

"  But  think  how  hard  people  find  it  to  please  him,"  I 
said  ;  "  think  of  the  pilgrimages,  the  penances,  the  indul- 
gences ?" 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  all  that,"  she  said  ;  "  T  only 
qriite  imderstand  my  sentence  and  the  crucifix  which  tells 
us  the  Son  of  God  died  for  man.  That  'rmist  have  been 
from  love,  and  I  love  him  ;  and  all  the  rest  I  am  content 
to  leave." 

But  to-night  as  I  look  at  her  dear  childlike  face  asleep 
on  the  pillow,  and  see  how  thin  the  cheek  is  which  those 
long  lashes  shade,  and  how  transparent  the  little  hand  on 
which  she  rests,  a  cold  fear  comes  over  me  lest  God  should 
even  now  be  making  her  spirit  "  fair  enough  for  him,"  and 
BO  too  fair  for  earth  and  for  us. 

April  4. 
f  I  ^HIS  afternoon  I  was  quite  cheered  by  seeing  Chris- 
.JL  topher  and  Pollux  bending  together  eagerly  over  a 
book,  which  they  had  placed  before  them  on  the  window 
sill.  It  reminded  me  of  Fritz,  and  I  went  up  to  see  wliat 
they  were  reading. 

I  found,  ho-wever,  to  my  dismay  it  was  no  church-book 
or  learned  Latin  school-book ;  but.  on  the  contrary,  a  Ger 
man  book  full  of  woodcuts,  which  shocked  me  very  ranch. 
It   WHS  called    l^einecke    Fuch'<,  and   as  fixr  as  I   could 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


'4' 


anderslanfl  mado  a  jest  of  everything.  Tliero  were  foxes 
■with  monk's  frocks,  and  even  in  cardinal's  hats,  and  wolves 
in  cassocks  with  shaven  crowns.  Altogether  it  seemed  to 
me  a  ^'ery  profane  and  perilous  book,  but  when  I  took  it 
to  our  father,  to  my  amazement  he  seemed  as  much 
amused  with  it  as  the  boys,  and  said  there  w^ere  evils  in 
the  world  which  were  better  attacked  by  jests  than  by 
sermons. 

April.,  St.  Mark's  Day. 
HAVE  just  heard  a  sermon  abotit  despising  the  world, 
from  a  great  preacher,  one  of  the  Dominican  friars,  who 
is  going  through  the  land  to  awaken  people  to  religion. 

He  spoke  especially  against  money,  which  he  called 
delusion,  and  dross,  and  worthless  dust,  and  a  soul-destroy- 
ing canker.  To  monks  no  doubt  it  may  be  so.  For  what 
could  they  do  with  it  ?  But  it  is  not  so  to  me.  Yester- 
day money  filled  my  heart  with  one  of  the  purest  joys  1 
have  ever  known,  and  made  me  thank  God  as  I  hardly 
ever  thanked  him  before. 

The  time  had  come  round  to  pay  for  some  of  tie  print- 
ing-materials, and  we  did  not  know  where  to  turn  for  the 
Bum  Ave  needed.  Lately  I  have  been  employing  my  leistire 
hours  in  embroidering  some  fine  Venetian  silk  Aunt  Ursula 
gave  me  ;  and  not  having  any  cojiies,  I  had  brought  in 
Bome  fresh  leaves  and  flowers  from  the  forest  and  tried  to 
imitate  them,  hoping  to  sell  them. 

When  I  had  finished,  it  was  thought  pretty,  and  I  car- 
ried it  to  the  merchant,  who  took  the  father's  precious 
unnnished  clock. 

He  has  always  been  kind  to  us  since,  and  lias  procured 
ns  ink  and  paper  at  a  cheaper  rate  than  others  can  buy  it. 

When  I  showed  hin  my  work  he  seemed  surprised,  and 
uistead  of  showing  it  to  liis  wife,  as?  I  had  expected,  be 
eaid  smiling, — 


42  THE  SCnONBEUO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

"  Those  things  are  not  for  poor  honest  burghers  like  me, 
You  know  my  wife  might  be  fined  by  the  sumptuary  laws 
if  she  aped  the  nobility  by  wearing  anything  so  line  as 
this.  I  am  going  to  the  Wartburg  to  speak  about  a  com- 
mission I  have  executed  for  the  Elector  Frederick,  and  if 
you  like  I  will  take  you  and  your  embroidery  with  me." 

I  felt  dismayed  at  first  at  such  an  idea,  but  I  had  on  the 
new  dress  Fritz  gave  me  a  year  ago,  and  I  resolved  to 
venture. 

It  was  so  many  years  since  I  had  passed  through  that 
massive  gateway  into  the  great  court-yard  ;  and  I  thought 
of  St.  Elizabeth  distributing  loaves,  perhaps,  at  that  very 
gate,  and  entreated  her  to  make  the  Elector  or  the  ladies 
of  his  court  propitious  to  me. 

I  was  left  standing,  \/hat  seemed  to  me  a  long  time,  in 
an  iiUte-room.  Some  very  gaily-dressed  gentlemen  and 
ladies  passed  me  and  looked  at  me  rather  scornfully.  I 
thought  the  courtiers  were  not  much  improved  since  the 
days  when  they  were  so  rude  to  St.  Ehzabeth. 

But  at  last  I  was  summoned  into  the  Elector's  presence. 
I  trembled  very  much,  lor  I  thought — If  the  servants  are 
so  haughty,  what  will  the  master  be  ?  But  he  smiled  on 
me  quite  kindly,  and  said,  "  My  good  child,  I  like  this 
work  of  thine ;  and  this  merchant  tells  me  thou  art  a  duti- 
ful daugliter.  I  will  p-n-chase  this  at  once  for  one  of  my 
sisters,  and  pay  thee  at  once !" 

I  was  so  surprised  and  delighted  with  his  kindness  that 
[  cannot  remember  the  exact  words  of  what  he  said  after- 
wards, but  the  substance  of  them  was  that  the  Elector  is 
building  a  new  church  at  his  new  university  town  of  Wit- 
tenberg, which  is  to  have  choicer  relics  than  any  church  in 
(4erniany.  And  I  am  engaged  to  embroider  altar-cloths 
and  coverings  for  the  reliquaries  And  the  sum  already 
paid  me  nearly  covers  cur  present  debt. 

No    whatever  that  Dominican  pi-eacher  miglit  say,  noth" 


ELSE'S  STORY.  £43 

ing  voukl  ever  i)ersuade  me  that  these  precious  guldeiia 
\\\\l  h  I  took  home  yesterday  evening  with  a  heart  brim 
ming  over  with  joy  and  thankfuhiess,  which  made  our 
father  clasp  his  hands  in  thanksgiving,  and  our  mother's 
eyes  overflow  with  happy  tears,  is  dehision,  or  dross,  or 
dust. 

Is  it  not  what  ive  make  it  ?  Dust  in  the  miser's  chest&  ; 
canker  in  the  proud  man's  heart;  but  golden  sunbeams, 
streams  of  blessing  earned  by  a  child's  labour  and  comfort- 
ing a  parent's  heart,  or  lovingly  poured  from  rich  men's 
hands  into  poor  men's  homes. 

April  20. 

BETTER  days  seem  dawning  at  last.  Dr.  Martin,  wlio 
preaches  now  at  the  Elector's  new  University  of  Wit- 
♦^nberg,  must,  we  think,  have  spoken  to  the  Elector  for  us, 
ptid  our  father  is  appointed  to  superintend  the  printing- 
j  ress  especially  for  Latin  books,  which  is  to  be  set  up 
tVere. 

And  sweeter  even  than  this,  it  is  fi-om  Fritz  that  this 
boon  comes  to  us.  Fritz,  dear  unselfish  Fritz,  is  the  bene- 
factor of  the  family  after  all.  It  was  he  who  asked  Dr. 
Martin  Luther  to  speak  for  us.  There,  in  his  lonely  cell  at 
Erfurt,  he  thinks  then  of  us  !  And  he  prays  for  us.  He 
will  never  forget  us.  His  new  name  will  not  alter  his 
heart.  And,  perhaps,  one  day  when  the  novitiate  is  over, 
we  may  see  him  again.  But  to  see  him  as  no  more  our 
I'ritz,  but  brother  Sebastian — his  homa,  the  Augustinian 
cloister — his  mother,  the  Church — his  sisters,  all  holy 
women — would  it  not  be  almost  worse  than  not  seeing 
him  at  all  ? 

We  are  all  to  move  to  Wittenberg  in  a  month,  except 
Pollux,  who  is  to  remaia  with  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta,  to 
barn  to  be  a  merchant. 

Christopher  begins  to  help  about  the  printing. 


^+4 


2 HE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


There  was  another  thing  also  in  my  visit  to  the  Wait 
burg,  which  gives  me  many  a  gleam  of  joy  when  I  thin! 
of  it.  If  the  Elector  whose  presence  I  so  trembled  to  en 
icr,  proved  so  much  more  condescending  and  accessibh 
tJian  his  courtiers, — oh,  if  it  could  only  be  possible  that  \v< 
are  making  som.e  mistake  about  God,  and  that  he  after  al 
may  be  more  gracious  and  ready  to  listen  to  us  than  hi 
priests,  or  even  than  the  sauits  who  wait  on  hjjci  in  lii 
palace  in  heaven ! 


VIII. 


FRITZ'S     STORY. 


Erfurt,  Augustinian  Convent,  April  1. 
SUPPOSE  conflict  of  mind  working  on  a  cou 
stitution  weakened  by  the  plague,  brought  on 
the  ilhiess  from  which  I  am  just  recovering. 
It  is  good  to  feel  strength  returning  as  I  do. 
There  is  a  kind  of  natural,  irresistible  delight  in  life,  how- 
over  little  we  have  to  live  for,  especially  to  one  so  littlo 
prepared  to  die  as  I  am.  As  I  Avrite,  the  rooks  are  cawing 
in  the  churchyard  elms,  disputing  and  chattering  like  a 
set  of  busy  prosaic  burghers.  But  retired  from  all  this 
noisy  piiblic  life,  two  thrushes  have  built  their  nest  in  a 
thorn  just  under  the  window  of  my  cell.  And  early  in  the 
morning  they  wake  me  with  song.  One  flies  hither  and 
thither  as  busy  as  a  bee,  with  food  for  his  mate,  as  she 
broods  secure  among  the  thick  leaves,  and  then  he  perches 
on  a  twig,  and  sings  as  if  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  be 
lia])py.  All  is  pleasure  to  him,  no  doubt — the  work  as 
well  as  the  singing.  Happy  the  creatures  for  whom  it  is 
God's  Avill  that  they  should  live  according  to  their  nature, 
and  not  contrary  to  it. 

Probably  in  the  recovering  from  illness,  when  the  body 
IS  still  weak,  yet  thrilling  with  reviving  strength,  the  heart 
IS  especially  tender,  and  yearns  more  towards  home  and 

7  (145^ 


1^6  THE  8Cn6XBERO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

former  life  than  it  will  when  strength  returns  anil  brings 
duties.  Or,  perliaps,  tliis  ilhiess  recalls  the  last, — and  the 
loving  faces  and  soft  hushed  voices  that  were  around  me 
then. 

Yet  I  have  nothing  to  comjjlain  of.  My  aged  confessor 
has  scarcely  left  my  bedside.  From  the  first  he  brought 
his  bed  into  my  cell,  and  watched  over  me  like  a  father. 

And  his  words  minister  to  my  heart  as  much  as  his 
hands  to  my  bodily  wants. 

If  my  spirit  would  only  take  the  comfort '  he  offers,  as 
easily  as  I  receive  food  and  medicine  from  his  hands ! 

He  does  not  attempt  to  combat  my  difficulties  one  by 
one.     He  says, — 

"  I  am  little  of  a  physician.  I  cannot  lay  my  hand  on 
the  seat  of  disease.  But  there  is  One  Avho  can."  And  to 
him  I  know  the  simple-hearted  old  man  prays  for  me. 

Often  he  recurs  to  the  declaration  in  the  creed,  "  I  be- 
aeve  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins."  "  It  is  the  command  of 
God;"  he  said  to  me  one  day  "that  we  should  believe  in 
the  forgiveness  of  sins,  not  of  David's  or  Peter's  sins,  but 
of  ours,  our  own,  the  very  sins  that  distress  our  con- 
sciences."  He  also  quoted  a  sermon  of  St.  Bernard's  on 
the  annunciation. 

"  The  testimony  jf  the  Holy  Ghost  given  in  thy  heart 
is  this,  '  Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee.' " 

Yes,  forgiven  to  all  penitents !  But  who  can  assure  me 
I  am  a  true  penitent? 

These  words,  he  told  me,  comforted  Brother  Marthi,  and 
be  wonders  they  do  not  comfort  me.  I  suppose  Brother 
Martin  had  the  testhuony  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  his  heart; 
but  who  shall  give  that  to  me  ?  to  me  Avho  resisted  the 
vocation  of  the  Holy  Ghost  so  long ,  Avho  in  my  deepest 
heart  obey  it  so  imperfectly  still ! 

Brother  Martin  Avas  faithful,  honest,  thorough,  single 
hearted, — all  tl-at  God  accepts;  all  that  I  nm  not. 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  14; 

The  affoction  and  compassion  of  my  aged  conft-ssor  often, 
however,  comfort  me,  even  when  liis  wcirds  liave  littlo 
power.  They  make  me  feel  a  dim  hope  now  and  then  that 
the  Lord  he  serves  may  have  something  of  the  same  pity 
111  his  heart. 

Erfurt,  Ajrril,  15. 
^  I  "^IIE  Vicar-General,  Staupitz,  has  visited  our  convent. 
X      I  have  confessed  to  him.     He  was  very  gentle  to 
me,  and  to  my  surprise  prescribed  me  scarcely  any  penance, 
although  T  endeavoured  to  unveil  all  to  him. 

Once  he  murmured,  as  if  to  himself,  looking  at  me  with 
a  ])enetrating  compassion,  "  Yes,  there  is  no  drawing  hack. 
Ijut  I  wish  I  had  knoAvn  this  before."  And  then  he  added 
to  me,  "  Brother,  we  must  not  confuse  suffering  with  sin. 
It  is  sin  to  turn  back.  It  may  be  anguish  to  look  back  and 
see  what  we  liave  renounced,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  sin, 
if  we  resolutely  jiress  forward  still.  And  if  sin  mingles 
with  the  regret,  remember  we  liave  to  do  not  with  a 
painted,  but  a  real  Saviour ;  and  he  died  net  for  painted, 
but  for  real  sins.  Sin  is  never  overcome  by  looking  at  it, 
but  by  looking  away  from  it  to  Him  who  bore  our  sins, 
yours  and  mine,  on  the  cross.  The  heart  is  never  won 
back  to  God  by  thinking  we  ought  to  love  him,  but  by 
learning  what  he  is,  all  worthy  of  our  love.  True  repent- 
ance begins  with  the  love  of  God.  Tlie  Holy  Spirit 
teaches  us  to  know,  and,  therefore,  to  love  God.  Fear  not, 
but  read  the  Scriptures,  and  pray.  He  will  employ  thee 
in  his  service  yet,  and  in  his  favour  is  life,  and  in  his  service 
is  freedom." 

Tliis  confession  gave  me  great  comfort  for  the  time.  I 
felt  myself  understood,  and  yet  not  despaired  of.  And 
that  evening,  after  repeating  the  Hours,  I  ventured  in  my 
own  \N ords  to  pray  to  God,  and  found  it  solemn  and  sweet. 

But  since  tlien  my  old  fear  has  recurred.  '  Did  I  indeed 
confers  completely  even  to  the  Vicar-General?     If  Wiad( 


,  4-8  THE  SCBO'NBURG-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  7 

vfOwVi  not  his  verdict  have  been  different?  Does  not  flta 
very  n  ildness  of  his  judgment  prove  that  I  have  once  more 
deceived  mj^self — made  a  false  confession,  and,  therefore, 
< 'died  of  the  absolution?  But  it  is  a  relief  to  have  his 
positive  command  as  my  superior  to  study  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, instead  of  the  scholastic  theologians,  to  Avhose  writ- 
ings my  preceptor  had  lately  been  exclusively  directing  my 
studies. 

April  25. 

I  HAVE  this  day,  to  my  surprise,  received  a  command, 
issuing  from  the  Vicar-General,  to  prepare  to  set  off 
on  a  mission  to  Rome. 

The  monk  imder  whose  direction  I  am  to  journey  I  do 
not  yet  know. 

The  thought  of  the  new  scenes  we  shall  pass  throxigh, 
and  the  wonderful  new  v»'orld  we  shall  enter  on,  \\q,\\  and 
old,  fills  me  with  an  almost  childish  delight.  Since  I  heard 
it.  my  heart  and  conscience  seem  to  have  become  strangely 
lighte/ied,  which  proves,  I  fear,  how  little  real  earnestness 
there  is  in  me. 

Another  thing,  however,  has  comforted  me  greatly.  In 
the  curse  of  my  confession  I  spoke  to  the  Vicar-General 
about  my  fjimily,  and  he  has  procured  for  ray  father  an  ap- 
pointuiont  as  superintendent  of  the  Latin  printing  press, 
at  the.  Elector's  new  Univei-sity  of  Wittenberg. 

I  ti  ast  now  that  the  heavy  pressure  of  pecuniary  care 
which  has  weighed  so  long  on  my  mother  and  Else  will  bo 
relievixl.  It  would  have  been  sweeter  to  me  to  have  earned 
I  his  r«;lief  for  them  by  my  own  exertions.  But  we  must 
nut  choose  the  shape  or  the  time  in  which  divine  messen- 
gers «i:all  appear. 

Tlie  Vic.ir-General  has,  moreover,  presented  me  with  a 
little  Volume  of  sermons  by  a  pious  Dominican  friar,  named 
1'auler.  These  are  wonderfully  deep  and  heart-searching. 
I  find  it  difhc'jlt  to  reconcile  the  sublime  and  enrapt  devo 


FRITZ'S  STOUT.  4) 

tioii  to  God  which  inspires  them  with  the  niiaute  rules  of 
our  order,  the  details  of  scholastic  casuistry,  and  the  pre- 
cise directions  as  to  the  measure  of  worship  and  honour, 
Dulia,  HyperduHa,  and  Latria  to  be  paid  to  the  various 
orders  of  heavenly  beings,  which  make  prayer  often  seem 
as  perplexing  to  me  as  the  ceremonial  of  the  imperial  court 
would  to  a  peasant  of  the  Thuringian  forest. 

This  Dominican  speaks  as  if  we  might  soar  above  all 
these  lower  things,  and  lose  ourselves  hi  the  One  Ineffable 
Source,  Ground,  Beginrsing,  and  End  of  all  Being;  the 
One  who  is  all. 

Dearer  to  me,  however,  than  this,  is  an  old  mauuscriix 
in  our  convent  library,  containing  the  confessions  of  the 
patron  of  our  order  himself,  the  great  Father  Augustine. 

Straight  from  his  heart  it  penetrates  into  mine,  as  if 
spoken  to  me  to-day.  Passionate,  fervent,  struggling,  wan- 
dering, trembling,  adoring  heart,  I  feel  its  pulses  through 
every  line ! 

And  was  this  the  experience  of  one  who  is  now  a  saint 
on  the  most  glorious  heights  of  heaven  ? 

Then  the  mother !  Patient,  lowly,  noble,  saintly  Monica ; 
mother,  and  more  than  martyr.  She  rises  before  me  in 
the  likeness  of  a  beloved  form  I  may  remember  without 
sin,  even  here,  even  now.  St.  Monica  speaks  to  me  with 
my  mother's  voice ;  and  in  the  narrative  of  her  prayers  I 
seem  to  gain  a  deeper  insight  into  what  ray  mother's  have 
been  for  me. 

St.  Augustine  was  happy,  to  breathe  the  last  words  of 
comfort  to  her  himself  as  he  did,  to  be  with  her,  dwelling 
in  one  house  to  the  last.  This  can  scarcely  be  given  to  me. 
"  That  sweet,  dear  habit  of  living  together"  is  broken  for 
i:\eT  between  us  ;  broken  by  my  deUberate  act.  "  For  tho 
glory  of  God  ;"  may  God  accept  it ;  if  not,  may  he  forgive. 

That  old  manuscript  is  worn  with  reading.  It  has  lain 
in  the  convent  library  for  certainly  more  than  a  hundrod 


1 50  THE  SCUONBEIl  0-CO  TTA  FAMIL  Y. 

years.  Generation  after  generation  of  those  Avho  nc  w  lie 
eleepir  g  in  the  field  of  God  below  our  windows  have  turned 
over  those  pages.  Heart  after  heart  has  doubtless  come, 
as  I  came,  to  consult  the  oracle  of  that  deep  heart  of  old 
times,  so  nearly  shipwrecked,  so  gloriously  saved. 

As  I  road  the  old  thumbed  volume,  a  company  of  spirits 
«eem  to  breathe  in  fellowship  around  me,  and  I  think  how 
many,  strengthened  by  these  words,  are  perhaps  even  now, 
like  him  who  penned  them,  amongst  the  spirits  of  the  just 
made  perfect. 

In  the  convent  library,  the  dead  seem  to  live  again 
around  me.  In  the  cemetery  are  the  relics  of  the  coi'rup- 
tible  body.  Among  these  worn  volumes  I  feel  the  breath 
of  the  living  spirits  of  generations  passed  away. 

I  must  say,  however,  there  is  more  oj)portunity  for  soli- 
tary communion  with  tlie  departed  in  that  library  than  J 
could  wish.  The  books  are  not  so  much  read,  certainly, 
in  these  days,  as  the  Vicai'-General  would  desire,  although 
the  Augustinian  has  the  reputation  of  being  among  the 
more  learned  orders. 

I  often  question  what  brought  many  of  these  easy,  com- 
foi-table  monks  here.  But  many  of  the  faces  give  no  reply 
to  my  search.  No  history  seems  written  on  them.  The 
wrinkles  seem  mere  ruts  of  the  wlieels  of  time,  not  fur- 
rows sown  with  the  seeds  of  thought, — happy  at  least  if 
they  are  not  as  fissures  rent  by  the  convulsions  of  inAvard 
fires. 

I  suppose  many  of  the  brethren  became  monks  just  aa 
other  men  become  tailors  or  shoemakers,  and  with  no  fur- 
ther spiritual  aim,  because  their  parents  planned  it  so. 
But  I  may  wrong  even  the  meanest  in  saying  so.  The 
shallowest  human  heart  has  depths  somewhere,  let  them 
be  crusted  over  by  ice  ever  so  thick,  or  veiled  by  fioweio 
ever  so  fair. 

And  I  —I  and  this  unknown  brother  are  actually  aboul 


FRITZ'S  STORT. 


151 


to  jouraey  to  Italy,  the  glorious  land  of  sunshine,  and 
vines,  and  olives,  and  ancient  cities — the  'and  of  Rome, 
imperial,  saintly  Rome,  where  countless  martyrs  sleep, 
whei -i  St.  Augustine  and  Monica  sojourned,  where  St. 
Paul  and  St.  Peter  preached  and  suflered, — where  the 
vicar  -'f  Christ  lives  and  reigns. 

May  1. 

Til  E  brother  with  whom  I  am  to  make  the  pilgrimage 
to  Rome  arrived  last  night.  To  my  inexpressible 
delight  it  is  none  other  than  Brother  Martin — Martin 
Luther — Professor  of  Theology  in  the  Elector's  new  Uni. 
versity  of  Wittenberg.  He  is  much  changed  again  since 
I  saw  him  last  toiling  through  the  streets  of  Erfurt  with 
the  sack  on  his  shoulder.  The  hollow,  worn  look,  has  dis- 
appeared from  his  face,  and  the  fire  has  come  back  to  his 
eyes.  Their  expression  varies,  indeed,  often  from  the  sparklo 
of  merriment  to  a  grave  earnestness,  when  all  their  light 
seems  withdrawn  inward ;  but  underneath  there  is  that 
kind  of  repose  I  have  noticed  in  the  countenance  of  my 
aged  confessor. 

Brother  Martin's  face  has,  indeed,  a  history  written  on 
It,  and  a  history,  I  deem,  not  yet  finished. 

Heidelbekg,  May  25. 

1  WONDERED  at  the  lightness  of  heart  with  which  I 
set  out  on  our  journey  from  Erfurt. 

The  Vicar-General  himself  accompanied  us  hither.  Wo 
travelled  partly  on  horseback,  and  partly  in  wheeled  car- 
riages. 

llje  conversation  turned  much  on  the  prospects  of  tho 
new  university,  and  the  importance  of  finding  good  pro- 
fessors of  the  ancient  languages  for  it.  Bi-other  JNCartin 
liimself  proposed  to  make  use  of  his  sojourn  at  Rome,  to 
improve  himself  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  by  studying  under 


,52  TUB  8CE0NBERO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

the  learned  Greeks  and  rabbis  there.    They  counsel  me 
alpo  to  do  the  same. 

The  business  which  calls  ns  to  Rome  is  an  appeal  to  the 
Holy  Father,  concerning  a  dispute  between  some  convents 
of  our  Order  and  the  Vicar-General. 

But  they  say  business  is  slowly  conducted  at  Rome,  and 
V  ill  leave  us  much  time  for  other  occuj)ations,  besides  those 
U'liich  are  most  on  our  hearts,  namely,  paying  homage  at 
the  toiibs  of  the  holy  apostles  and  martyrs. 

They  ^'peak  most  respectfully  and  cordially  of  the  Elfic 
tor  Frederic,  who  must  indeed  be  a  very  devout  prince 
Not  many  years  since  he  accomplished  a  pilgrimage  to 
Jerusalem,  and  took  Avith  him  the  jjainter  Lucas  Cranach. 
to  make  drawings  of  the  various  holy  places. 

About  ten  years  since,  he  built  a  church  dedicated  to 
St.  Ursula,  on  the  site  of  the  small  chapel  erected  in  1353, 
over  the  Holy  Thorn  from  the  Crown  of  Thorns,  presented 
to  a  former  Elector  by  the  king  of  France. 

This  church  is  already,  they  say,  through  the  Elector 
Frederic's  diligence,  richer  in  relics  than  any  church  in 
Europe,  except  that  of  Assisi,  the  birthplace  of  St.  Francis. 
And  the  collection  is  still  continually  being  increased. 

They  showed  me  a  book  printed  at  Wittenberg  a  year  or 
two  since,  entitled  "A  Description  of  the  Venerable  Relics," 
adorned  with  one  hundred  and  nineteen  wood-cuts. 

The  town  itself  seems  to  be  still  jjooi  and  mean  com- 
pared with  Eisnach  and  Erfurt ;  and  the  students,  of  whom 
there  are  now  nearly  five  hundred,  are  at  times  very  tur- 
bulent. There  is  much  beer-drinking  among  them.  In 
1507,  three  years  since,  the  Bishop  of  Brandenburg  laid 
the  whole  city  under  interdict  for  some  insult  offered  by 
the  students  to  his  suite,  and  noAv  they  xse.  forbidden  to 
wear  guns,  swords,  or  knives. 

Brother  Martin,  however,  is  full  of  hope  as  to  the  good 
\a>  be  done  among  them.     He  himself  received  the  degree 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


153 


of  Bibliciis  (Bible  teacher)  on  the  9th  of  March  last  year; 
and  every  day  he  lectures  between  twelve  and  one  o'clock. 

Last  summer,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  persuaded  by 
the  Vicar-General  to  preach  jiublicly.  I  heard  some  con- 
versation between  them  in  reference  to  this,  which  after- 
wwds  Brother  Martin  explained  to  me. 

Dr.  Staupitz  and  Brother  Martin  were  sitting  last  sum- 
mer in  the  convent  garden  at  Wittenberg  together,  under 
the  shade  of  a  pear  tree,  whilst  the  Vicar-General  endea- 
voured to  prevail  on  him  to  preach.  He  was  exceedingly 
unAvilling  to  make  the  attempt.  "  It  is  no  little  matter,' 
said  he  to  Dr.  Staupitz,  "  to  appear  before  the  people  in 
the  place  of  God.  I  had  fifteen  arguments,"  he  continued 
in  relating  it,  "  wherewith  I  purposed  to  resist  my  voca- 
tion ;  but  they  availed  nothing."  At  the  last  I  said,  "  Dr. 
Staupitz  you  Avill  be  th^  death  of  me,  for  I  cannot  live  un 
der  it  three  months."  "Very  well,"  replied  Dr.  Staupitz, 
"  still  go  on.  Our  Lord  God  hath  many  great  things  to 
accomplish,  and  he  has  need  of  wise  men  in  heaven  as  well 
as  on  earth." 

Brother  Martin  could  nol^.  further  resist,  and  after  mak- 
ing a  trial  before  the  brethr?r\  ^n  the  refectory,  at  last,  with 
a  trembling  heart  he  mounted  the  pulpit  of  the  little  chapel 
of  the  Augustinian  cloister. 

"  When  a  preacher  for  the  fi"^t  time  ente'-.s  the  pulpit," 
he  concluded,  "  no  one  would  Wieve  liow  fearful  he  is ; 
he  sees  so  many  heads  before  him.  Wlien  I  go  into  the 
pulpit,  I  do  not  look  on  any  one.  I  think  tJ.  nm  only  to  be 
so  many  blocks  before  me,  and  I  speak  out  thfl  words  of 
my  God." 

And  yet  Dr.  Staupitz  says  his  words  are  liho  thvnider- 
peals.  Veil  do  I  say?  Is.it  iw.  becav.ie  ?  He  I^'^It  him- 
self nothing;  he  feels  his  message  cveiything;  ho  feels 
Gofl  present.  What  more  could  be  needed  to  make  A  vnasi 
of  his  power  a  great  jireacher  ? 


»54 


THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


With  sucii  discourse  the  journey  seemed  accomplished 
quickly  indeed.  And  yet,  almost  tlie  hajtpiest  hours  to 
me  were  those  when  we  were  all  silent,  and  the  new  scenes 
passed  rapidly  before  me.  It  was  a  great  rest  to  li\e  for 
a  time  on  wiiat  I  saw,  and  cease  from  thought,  and  re- 
membrance, and  inward  questionings  altogether.  For 
have  I  not  been  commanded  this  journey  by  my  superiors, 
60  that  in  accordance  with  my  vow  of  obedience,  my  one 
duty  at  present  is  to  travel ;  and  therefore  what  pleasure 
it  chances  to  bring  I  must  not  refuse. 

We  spent  some  hours  in  Nuremberg.  The  quaint  rich 
carvings  of  many  of  the  houses  were  beautiful.  There  also 
we  saw  Albrecht  Durer's  i>ainlings,  and  heard  Hans  Sachs, 
the  shoemaker  and  poet,  sing  his  godly  German  hymns* 
And  as  we  crossed  the  Bavarian  plains,  the  friendliness  ot 
the  simple  peasantry  made  up  to  us  for  the  sameness  of 
the  country. 

Near  Heidelberg  again  I  fancied  myself  once  more  in 
the  Thuringian  forest,  especially  as  we  rested  in  the  con- 
vent of  Erbach  in  the  Odenwald.  Agahi  the  familiar 
forests  and  green  valleys  with  their  streams  Avere  around 
me.  I  fear  Else  and  the  others  will  miss  the  beauty  of  the 
forest-covered  hills  around  Eisenach,  when  they  remove  to 
Wittenberg,  which  is  situated  on  a  barren,  monotonous 
flat.     About  this  time  they  wdll  be  moving ! 

Brother  Martin  has  held  many  disputations  on  theologi- 
cal and  philosophical  questions  in  the  University  of  Hei- 
delberg ;  but  I,  being  only  a  novice,  have  been  free  to 
wander  Avhither  I  would. 

This  evening  it  was  delightful  to  stand  in  the  w^oodss  of 
the  Elector  Palatine's  castle,  and  fi-om  among  the  oaks  and 
delicate  bushes  rustling  about  me,  to  look  down  on  tliG 
hills  of  the  Odenw^ald  folding  over  each  other.  Far  up 
among  them  I  traced  the  narrow,  quiet  Neckar,  i'ssuing 
from  the  silent  depths  of  the  forest;  whi^e  on  \he  othei 


FRITZ'S  8T0RT.  i;; 

«de,  belovv  the  city,  it  wound  on  tiirough  the  plain  to  the 
Rhine,  gleaming  here  and  there  with  the  gold  of  sunset  or 
the  cold  gray  light  of  the  evening.  Beyond,  far  off,  1 
could  see  the  masts  of  ships  on  the  Rhine. 

I  scarcely  know  why.  the  river  made  me  think  of  life, 
oi  nime  and  Brother  Martin's.  Already  he  has  left  the 
shadow  of  the  forests.  Who  can  say  what  people  his  life 
will  bless,  what  sea  it  will  reach,  and  through  what  perils  ? 
Of  this  I  feel  sure,  it  will  matter  much  to  many  what  its 
course  shall  be.  For  me  it  is  otherwise.  My  life,  as  far 
as  eartli  is  concerned,  seems  closed, — ended ;  and  it  Ct... 
matter  little  to  any,  henceforth,  through  what  regions  it 
passes,  if  only  it  reaches  the  ocean  at  last,  and  ends,  as 
they  say,  in  the  bosom  of  God.  If  only  we  could  be  sure 
that  God  guides  the  course  of  our  lives  as  he  does  that  of 
rivers.  And  yet,  do  they  not  say  that  some  rivers  eveu 
lose  themselves  in  sand-wastes,  and  others  trickle  meanly 
to  the  sea  through  lands  they  have  desolated  into  unten- 
antable marshes! 

Black  Forest,  May  14,  1510. 

BROTHER  Martin  and  I  are  now  fairly  on  our  pilgrim- 
age alone,  walking  all  day,  begging  our  provisions  and 
our  lodgings,  which  he  sometimes  repays  with  performing 
a  mass  in  the  ])arish  church,  or  a  promise  of  reciting  certain 
prayers  or  celebrating  masses  on  the  behalf  of  our  bene- 
factors, at  Rome. 

These  are,  indeed,  precious  days.  My  whole  frame 
Beetns  braced  and  revived  by  the  early  rising,  the  constant 
movement  in  the  pure  air,  the  pressing  forward  to  a  defi- 
nite point. 

But  more,  infinitely  more  than  this,  my  heart  seems 
reviving.  I  begin  1o  have  a  hope  and  see  a  hght  which, 
antil  low,  I  scarcely  deemed  possible. 

To   encourage   me   in    my   perplexities    and    ox)nflicla. 


156  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY.  ^ 

I>rother  Martin  unfolded  to  me  what  his  own  ha(\  been. 
To  the  storm  of  doubt,  and  fear,  and  anguish  in  that  great, 
iieart  of  his,  my  troubles  seem  like  a  passing  sprhig  shower 
Yet  to  me  tliey  were  tempests  which  laid  my  heart  waste. 
And  God,  Brother  Martin  believes,  does  not  measure  his 
pity  by  what  our  sorrows  are  in  themselves,  but  what  they 
are  to  us.     Are  Ave  not  all  children  in  his  sight  ? 

"  1  did  not  learn  my  divinity  at  once,"  he  said,  "  but 
was  constrained  by  my  temptations  to  search  deeper  and 
deeper;  for  no  man  without  trials  and  temptations  car. 
attain  a  true  understanding  of  the  Holy  Scriptures.  St. 
Paul  had  a  devil  that  beat  him  with  fists,  and  with  temp., 
tations  drove  him  diligently  to  study  the  Holy  Scriptures. 
Temptations  hunted  jne  into  the  Bible,  wherein  I  sedu- 
lously read ;  and  thereby,  God  be  praised,  at  length  at- 
tained a  true  understanding  of  it." 

He  then  related  to  me  what  some  of  these  temptations 
were ; — the  bitter  disappointment  it  was  to  him  to  find 
that  the  cowl,  and  even  the  vows  and  the  priestly  conse- 
cration, made  no  change  in  his  heart ;  that  Satan  was  as 
near  him  in  the  cloister  as  outside,  and  he  no  stronger  to 
cope  with  him.  He  told  me  of  his  endeavours  to  keep 
every  minute  rule  of  the  order,  and  how  the  slightest  devi- 
ation Aveighed  on  his  conscience.  It  seems  to  have  been 
like  trying  to  restrain  a  fire  by  a  fence  of  willows,  or  to 
guide  a  mountain-torrent  in  artificial  Avindings  through  a 
floAver-garden,  to  bind  his  ferA^ent  nature  by  these  A'exa- 
tious  rules.  He  was  continually  becoming  absorbed  in 
pome  thought  or  study,  and  forgetting  all  the  rules,  and 
then  painfully  he  would  turn  back  and  retrace  his  steps ; 
sometimes  spending  Aveeks  in  absorbing  study,  and  then 
remembering  he  had  neglected  his  canonical  hours,  and 
depriving  himself  of  sleep  for  nights  to  make  uj)  the  miss* 
ing  prayers. 

He  fasted,  diacipUned  himself,  humbled  limself  t<?  per 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  157 

form  the  meanest  offices  for  the  meanest  brother ;  forcibly 
kept  sleep  from  his  eyes,  wearied  with  stu^y,  and  his  mind 
worn  out  with  conflict,  until  every  vc-^^  ind  then  nature 
avenged  herself  by  laying  him  uno-iTifrc'c-is  on  the  floor  of 
Lis  cell,  or  disabling  him  by  a  flt  of  illness. 

But  all  in  vain  ;  his  temptations  seemed  to  gi  ow  stronger, 
his  strength  less.  Love  to  God  he  could  not  feel  at  all ; 
but  in  his  secret  soul  the  bitterest  questioning  of  God,  who 
seemed  to  torment  him  at  once  by  the  law  and  the  gospel. 
He  thought  of  Christ  as  the  severest  judge,  because  the 
most  righteous  ;  and  the  very  phrase,  "  the  righteousness 
of  God,"  was  torture  to  him. 

Not  that  this  state  of  distress  was  continual  with  him. 
At  times  he  gloried  in  his  obedience,  and  felt  that  he  earned 
rewards  from  God  by  performing  the  sacrifice  of  the  mass, 
fiOt  only  for  himself,  but  for  others.  At  times,  also,  in  his 
circuits,  after  his  consecration,  to  say  mass  in  the  villages 
around  Erfurt,  he  would  feel  his  spirits  lightened  by  the 
variety  of  the  scenes  he  witnessed,  and  would  be  greatly 
amused  at  the  ridiculous  mistakes  of  the  village  choirs; 
for  instance,  their  chanthig  the  "  Kyrie  "  to  the  music  of 
the  "  Gloria." 

Then,  at  other  times,  his  limbs  would  totter  with  terror 
when  he  oftered  the  holy  sacrifice,  at  the  thought  that  he, 
the  sacrificing  priest,  yet  the  poor,  sinful  Brother  Martin, 
actually  stood  before  God  "  without  a  Mediator." 

At  his  first  mass  he  had  difficulty  in  restraining  himself 
from  flying  from  the  altar — so  great  was  his  awe  and  the 
sense  of  his  unworthiness.  Had  he  done  so,  lie  would 
have  been  excommunicated. 

Again,  thei'e  were  days  when  he  performed  the  service* 
with  some  satisfaction,  and  would  conclude  with  saying, 
"  O  Lord  Jesus,  I  come  to  thee,  and  entreat  thee  to  be 
pleased  with  wliatscjever  I  do  and  sufler  in  my  order;  and 
[  pray  thee  that  tliese  burdens  and  Uiis  straitnesa  of  my 


irS  THS  SCHONBEEQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

rule  and  religion  may  be  a  fill  satisfaction  for  all  my  sins." 
Yet  then  again,  the  dread  would  come  that  perhaps  h« 
had  inadvertently  omitted  some  word  in  the  service,  such 
as  "  enim  "  or  "  seternura,"  or  neglected  some  prescribed 
genuflexion,  or  even  a  signing  of  the  cross ;  and  that  thus, 
instead  of  ofiering  to  God  an  acceptable  sacrifice  in  the 
mass,  he  had  committed  a  grievous  sin. 

From  such  tei'rors  of  conscience  he  fled  for  refuge  to 
some  of  his  twenty-one  patron  saints,  or  oftener  to  Mary, 
seeking  to  touch  her  womanly  heart,  that  she  might  ap- 
pease her  Son.  He  hoped  that  by  invoking  three  saints 
daily,  and  by  letting  his  body  waste  away  with  fastings 
and  Avatchings,  he  should  satisfy  the  law,  and  shield  his 
conscience  against  the  goad  of  the  driver.  But  it  all  availed 
him  nothing.  The  further  he  went  on  in  this  way,  the 
more  he  was  terrified. 

And  then  he  related  to  me  how  the  light  broke  upon  his 
heart ;  slowly,  intermittently,  indeed ;  yet  it  has  dawned 
on  him.     His  day  may  often  be  dark  and  tempestuous 
but  it  is  day,  and  not  night. 

Dr.  Staupitz  was  the  first  who  brought  him  any  comfort. 
The  Vicar-General  received  his  confession  not  long  aftei 
he  entered  the  cloister,  and  from  that  time  won  his  confi- 
dence, and  took  the  warmest  interest  in  him.  Brother 
Martin  frequently  wrote  to  him ;  and  once  he  used  the 
words,  in  reference  to  some  neglect  of  the  rules  which 
troubled  his  conscience,  "  Oh,  my  sins,  my  sins  !"  Dr. 
Staupitz  replied,  "  You  would  be  without  sin,  and  yet  you 
have  no  proper  sins.  Christ  forgives  true  sins,  such  as 
parricide,  blasphemy,  contempt  of  God,  adultery,  and  sins 
like  these.  These  are  sins  indeed.  You  must  have  a  regis- 
ter in  which  stand  veritable  sins,  if  Christ  is  to  help  you. 
You  would  be  a  painted  sinner,  and  have  a  painted  Christ 
as  a  Saviour.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  that  Christ 
is  a  i"eal  Saviour,  and  you  a  real  sinner." 


FRITZ'S  STORY  i  59 

These  words  brought  some  light  to  Brother  Martin,  but 
the  darkness  came  back  again  and  again ;  and  tenderly  did 
Dr.  Staupitz  sympathize  with  him  and  rouse  him — Dr. 
Staupitz,  and  that  dear,  aged  confessor,  who  ministered 
also  so  lovingly  to  me. 

Brother  Martin's  great  terror  was  the  thought  of  the 
righteousness  of  God,  by  which  he  had  been  taught  to  un- 
derstand Ins  inflexible  seventy  in  executing  judgment  on 
siuiierQ. 

Dr.  Ststupita  and  the  confessor  explained  to  him  that  the 
rightecoaness  of  God  is  not  against  the  sinner  who  believes 
in  the  Lord  Jcst-S  Christ,  but  for  him — not  against  us  to 
conden^Ji,  but  f  jr  ns  to  justify. 

He  began  to  study  the  Bible  with  a  new  zest.  He  had 
had  the  greatest  longing  to  imderstand  rightly  the  Epistle 
of  St.  Paul  to  the  Romans,  but  was  always  stopped  by  the 
word  "righteousness"  in  the  1st  chapter  and  17th  verse, 
where  Paul  says  the  righteousness  of  God  is  revealed  by 
the  gospel.  "  I  felt  very  angry,"  he  said,  "  at  the  term 
'  righteousness  of  God ;'  for,  after  the  manner  of  all  the 
teachers,  I  was  taught  to  understand  it  in  a  philosophic 
sense,  of  that  righteousness  by  which  God  is  just  and  pun- 
isheth  the  guilty.  Though  I  had  lived  without  reproach, 
I  felt  myself  to  be  a  great  sinner  before  God,  and  was  of  a 
very  quick  conscience,  and  had  not  confidence  in  a  recon- 
ciliation with  God  to  be  produced  by  any  work  or  satis- 
faction or  merit  of  my  own.  For  this  cause,  I  had  in  me 
no  love  of  a  righteous  and  angry  God,  but  secretly  hated 
him,  and  thought  within  myself,  Is  it  not  enough  that  God 
has  condemned  us  to  everlasting  death  by  Adam's  sin,  and 
that  we  must  suffer  so  much  trouble  and  misery  in  this 
life?  Over  and  above  the  terror  and  threatening  of  the 
law,  must  he  needs  increase  by  the  gospel  our  misery  and 
anguish,  and,  by  the  preaching  of  the  same,  thunder  against 
U9  his  justice  and  fierce  wrath?     My  confused  conscienct' 


i6o  THE  SCndNBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

oft  times  did  cast  me  into  fits  of  anger,  and  1  souglit  day 
and  night  to  make  out  the  meaning  of  Paul ;  and  at  last  1 
came  to  apprehend  it  thus  :  Througli  the  gosi>eI  is  revealed 
the  righteousness  which  availeth  with  God — a  righteous 
ness  by  which  God,  in  his  mercy  and  compassion,  justifieth 
us  ;  as  it  is  written,  '  The  just  shall  live  by  faith.''  Straight- 
w^ay  I  felt  as  if  I  were  born  anew  ;  it  was  as  if  I  had  found 
ihe  door  of  paradise  thrown  wide  open.  Now  I  saw  the 
Scriptures  altogether  in  a  new  light — ran  through  their 
whole  contents  as  f;ir  as  my  memory  Avould  serve,  and 
compared  them — and  found  that  this  righteousness  waa 
the  more  surely  that  by  which  he  makes  us  righteous,  be- 
cause everything  agreed  thereunto  so  well.  The  expres- 
sion, 'the  righteousness  of  God,'  which  I  so  much  hated 
before,  became  now  dear  and  precious — my  darling  and 
most  comforting  word.  That  passage  of  Paul  waa  io  me 
the  true  door  of  paradise." 

Brother  Martin  also  told  me  of  the  peace  the  ■V90f<Js-  "  I 
believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins,"  brought  t )  hivi,  as  the 
aged  confessor  had  previously  narrated  to  me ;  for^  he 
eaid,  the  devil  often  plucked  him  back,  and,  t?<,king  the 
very  form  of  Christ,  sought  to  terrify  him  agam  with  his 
sings. 

As  I  listened  to  him,  the  conviction  came  on  me  that  he 
had  indeed  drunk  of  the  well-spring  of  ev^erlasting  life, 
and  it  seemed  almost  within  my  own  reach  ;  but  I  said, — 

"  Brother  JNIartm,  your  sins  Avere  mere  transgressions 
of  human  rules,  but  mine  are  different.''  And  I  told  hira 
how  I  had  resisted  my  vocation.     He  replied, — 

"  The  devil  gives  heaven  to  peopld  before  they  sin  ;  bnl 
after  they  sin,  brings  their  consciencf.a  into  despair.  Christ 
deals  quite  in  the  contrary  way,  for  he  gives  heaven  after 
sins  committed,  and  makes  troubled  consciences  joyful." 

Then  Ave  fell  into  a  long  silence,  and  from  time  to  time. 
Bs  I  looked  at  the  calm  which  rtrignetl  on  his  rugged  and 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  ic> 

hiassive  brow,  ana  felt  the  deep  light,  in  his  dark  eyes,  tha 
conviction  gathered  strength, — 

"This  solid  thing  on  which  tliat  tempest-tossed  spirit 
rests  is  Truth." 

His  iips  moved  now  and  then,  as  il  in  piiyer,  and  bis 
eyes  were  lifted  up  from  time  to  tune  to  heaven,  as  if  liia 
thoughts  found  a  home  there. 

After  this  silence,  lie  spoke  again,  and  said, — 

"  The  gospel  speaks  nothing  of  our  woi-ks,  or  of  the 
works  of  the  law,  but  of  the  inestimable  mercy  and  \o\q 
of  God  towards  most  wretched  and  miserable  sinners. 
Our  most  merciful  Father,  seeing  us  overwhelmed  and 
oppressed  with  the  curse  of  the  law,  and  so  to  be  holden 
under  the  same  that  we  could  never  be  delivered  from  it 
by  our  own  power,  sent  his  only  Son  into  the  world,  and 
laid  upon  him  the  sins  of  all  men,  saying,  '  Be  thoTi  Peter, 
tnai  denier  ;  Paul,  that  persecutor,  blasphemer,  and  cruel 
oppressor  ;  David,  that  adulterer ;  that  sinner  tliat  did 
eat  the  apple  in  pai-adise  ;  that  thief  that  hanged  upon  the 
cross  ;  and  briefly,  be  thou  the  person  that  hath  committed 
the  sins  of  all  men,  and  pay  and  satisfy  for  them.'  For 
God  trifleth  not  with  us,  but  speaketh  earnestly  and  of 
great  love,  that  Christ  is  the  Lamb  of  God  who  beareth 
the  sins  of  us  all.  He  is  just,  and  the  justilier  of  hira 
that  believeth  in  Jesus." 

I  could  answer  nothing  to  tbis,  but  walked  along  pond- 
ering these  words.  Neither  did  he  say  any  more  at  that 
tixae. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low,  and  the  long  shadows  of  the 
j'ine  trunks  were  thrown  athw^art  our  green  forest-path,  so 
that  we  were  glad  to  find  a  charcoal-burner's  hut,  and  to 
take  shelter  for  the  night  beside  his  tires. 

But  that  night  I  could  not  sleep  ;  and  when  all  were 
Kleojiing  ai  ound  me,  I  rose  and  went  out  into  the  forest. 

Brother   Martm   is  i;ot  a  man  to  i)aiadfe  his  inmost  con 


62  TEE  8C1WNBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

flicts  before  tlie  eyes  of  others,  to  call  forth  their  sympa 
thy  or  their  idle  wonder.  He  has  suffered  too  deej^ly  and 
too  recently  for  that.  It  i"*  not  lightly  that  he  has  unlocked 
the  dungeons  and  torture-Ciiambers  of  his  past  life  for  me. 
It  is  as  a  fellow-Fufferer  and  a  fellow-soldier,  to  show  me 
iiow  I  also  may  escape  and  overcome. 

It  is  surely  because  he  is  to  be  a  hero  and  a  leader  of 
men  that  God  has  caused  him  to  tread  these  bitter  ways 
alone. 

A  new  meaning  dawns  on  old  words  for  me.  There  ia 
nothing  new  in  what  he  says  ;  but  it  seems  new  to  me,  as 
if  God  had  sjjoken  it  first  to-day ;  and  all  things  seem 
made  new  in  its  light. 

God,  then,  is  more  earnest  for  me  to  be  saved  than  I  am 
to  be  saved. 

"  He  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  Son." 

He  loved  not  saints,  not  penitents,  not  the  religious,  not 
those  who  love  him  ;  but  the  world,  secular  men,  profane 
men,  hardened  rebels,  hopeless  wanderers,  and  sinners. 

He  gave  not  a  promise,  not  an  angel  to  teach  us,  not  a 
world  to  ransom  us,  but  his  Son — his  Only-begotten. 

So  much  did  God  love  the  world,  sinners,  mo  !  I  believe 
this ;  I  must  believe  this ;  I  beheve  on  him  who  says  it. 
How  can  I  then  do  otherwise  than  rejoice  ? 

Two  glorious  visions  rise  before  me  and  fill  the  world 
and  all  my  heart  Avith  joy. 

I  see  the  Holiest,  the  Perfect,  the  Son  made  the  victim. 
the  lamb,  the  curse,  willingly  yielding  himself  up  to  death 
on  the  cross  for  me. 

1  see  the  Father — inflexible  in  justice  yet  delighting  in 
mercy — accepting  him,  the  spotless  Lamb  whom  he  had 
given  ;  raising  him  from  the  dead  ;  setting  him  on  his 
right  hand.  Just,  beyond  all  my  terrified  conscience 
<5culd  picture  him,  he  justifies  me  the  sinner. 

Hating  sin  as  lovo  must  abhor  selfishness,  and  life  death. 


FRITZ'S  STOi^Y.  163 

And  purity  corruption,  lie  loves  me — the  selfish,  the  cor- 
rupt, the  dead  m  sins,  lie  gives  Lis  Sou,  the  Only-begot- 
ten, for  me ;  he  accepts  his  Son,  the  sj^otless  Lamb,  for 
me ;  he  forgives  me ;  he  acquits  me  ;  he  will  make  nifl 
pure. 

The  thought  overpowered  me.  I  knelt  among  the  pines 
and  spoke  to  Him,  Avho  hears  when  we  have  no  words, 
for  words  failed  me  altogether  then. 

Munich,  May  18. 

ALL  the  next  day  and  the  next  ihat  joy  lasted.  Every 
twig,  and  bird,  and  dew-drop  spoke  in  parables  to 
me ;  sang  to  me  the  parable  of  the  son  who  had  returned 
from  the  far  country,  and  as  he  wont  towards  his  fixther's 
house  prepared  his  confession ;  but  never  finished  the 
journey,  for  the  father  met  him  when  he  was  yet  a  great 
way  oft";  and  never  finished  the  confession,  for  the  father 
stopped  his  self  reproaches  with  embraces. 

And  on  the  fatlier's  heart  what  child  could  say,  "  Make 
me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants  ?" 

I  saw  His  love  shining  in  every  dew-drop  on  the  grassy 
forest  glades  ;  I  heard  it  in  the  song  of  every  bird  ;  I  felt 
it  in  every  pulse. 

I  do  not  know  that  Ave  spoke  much  during  those  days, 
Brother  Martin  and  I. 

I  have  known  something  of  love  ;  but  I  have  never  felt 
a  luv«  that  so  fills,  overwheuns,  satisfies,  as  this  love  of 
(iod.  ^j.d  when  first  it  is  "  thou  and  I "  between  God 
and  the  soul,  for  a  time,  at  least,  t  Je  heart  has  little  room 
for  other  fellowship. 

But  then  came  doubts  and  questionings.  WTiei:ce  came 
tl  ey  ?     ]5rother  Martin  said  from  Satan. 

"  The  devil  is  a  wretched,  unhapjiy  spirit,"  said  he, 
"  and  he  loves  to  make  us  wretched." 

One  thing  that  began  to  trouble  me  was,  whether  I  bad 


1 64  THE  SCHONBEIiG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

the  right  land  of  faith.  Old  definitions  of  faith  recurred 
to  me,  by  which  faitli  is  said  to  be  nothing  unless  it  is 
informed  with  charity  and  developed  into  good  works,  so 
that  when  it  saith  we  are  justified  by  faith,  the  part  ia 
taken  for  the  whole, — and  it  means  by  faith,  also  hope, 
charity,  all  the  graces,  and  all  good  works. 

But  Brother  Martin  declared  it  meaneth  simply  believ^ 
ing.     He  said, — 

"  Faith  is  an  almighty  thing,  foi  it  giveth  glory  to  God, 
which  is  the  highest  service  that  can  be  given  to  him. 
Now,  to  give  glory  to  God,  is  to  believe  in  him  ;  to  count 
bun  true,  Avise,  righteous,  merciful,  almighty.  The  chiefest 
thing  God  requireth  of  man  is,  that  he  giveth  unto  him 
his  glory  and  divinity ;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  taketh  hira 
not  for  an  idol,  but  for  God  ;  who  regardeth  him,  heareth 
hiiu,  showeth  mercy  unto  him,  and  helpeth  him.  For 
faith  saith  thus,  'I  believe  thee,  O  God,  Avhen  thou  speak- 
est.' " 

But  our  great  Avisdom,  he  says,  is  to  look  aAvay  from  all 
these  questionings, — from  our  sins,  our  works,  ourselves, 
to  Christ,  who  is  our  righteousness,  our  Saviour,  our  all. 

Then  at  times  other  things  perplex  me.  If  faith  is  so 
simple,  and  salvation  so  free,  why  all  those  orders,  rules, 
pilgrimages,  penances  ? 

And  to  these  perplexities  we  can  neither  of  us  find  any 
answer.  But  we  must  be  obedient  to  the  Church.  What 
we  cannot  understand  we  must  receive  and  obey.  This  ia 
a  monk's  duty,  at  least. 

Then  at  times  another  temptation  comes  on  me.  "If 
tliou  hadst  known  of  this  before,"  a  voice  says  deep  in  my 
heart,  "thou  couldst  have  served  God  joyfully  in  thy 
liouse,  instead  of  painfully  in  the  cloister  ;  wouldst  have 
helped  thy  paients  and  Else,  and  spoken  with  Eva  on 
these  things,  Avhich  her  devout  and  simple  heart  has  d..^ubt- 
less  j-eceived  alreadv."     But,  alas  !  I  know  too  well  what 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  165 

erapler  ventures  to  suggest  that  name  to  nic,  and  1  say, 
"  Whatever  miglit  have  been,  mahcious  spirit,  ncm  I  am  a 
rehgious,  a  devoted  man,  to  whom  it  is  perdition  to  draw 
^ack  !" 

Yet,  in  a  sense,  I  seem  less  separated  from  my  belovod 
ones  during  these  past  days. 

There  is  a  brotherhood,  there  is  a  family,  more  perma 
nent  than  the  home  at  Eisenach,  or  even  the  Order  of  St. 
Augustine,  in  which  we  may  be  united  still.  There  is  a 
home  in  which,  perhaps,  we  may  yet  be  one  household. 

And  meantime,  God  may  have  some  little  useful  work 
for  me  to  do  here,  which  in  his  presence  may  make  life 
pass  as  quickly  as  this  my  jjilgrimage  to  Home  in  Brother 
Martin's  comjiany. 

Benedictine  INIonastery  in  Lombardt. 

GOD  has  given  us  during  these  last  days  to  see,  as  I 
verily  believe,  some  glimpses  into  Eden.  The  moun- 
tains with  snowy  summits,  like  the  Avhite  steps  of  His 
throne  ;  the  rivers  which  ilow  from  them  and  enrich  the 
land  ;  the  crystal  seas,  like  glas3  minafled  with  fire,  whore 
the  reflected  snow-peaks  burn  in  the  hikes  at  dawn  or 
sunset ;  and  then  this  Lombard  ]>lain,  watered  Avith  rivers 
which  niake  its  harvests  gleam  like  gold  ;  this  garner  of 
God,  where  the  elms  or  chestnuts  grow  among  the  golden 
maize,  and  the  vines  festoon  the  trees,  so  that  all  the  land 
seems  garlanded  for  a  i)erpetual  holy  day.  "We  came 
through  the  Tyrol  by  Fi'issen,  and  then  struck  across  by 
the  mountains  and  the  lakes  to  Milan. 

Now  Ave  are  entertained  like  princes  in  this  rich  Bene- 
dictine abbey.  Its  annual  income  is  36,000  florins.  "  Of 
eating  and  feasting,"  as  Brother  ]\[artin  says,  "  there  i^  no 
lack  ;"  for  that  12,000  florins  are  consumed  on  guests,  and 
as  large  a  sum  on  building.  The  residue  goeth  to  tha 
convent  and  the  brethren. 


too  THE  SCUONBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

They  have  received  us  poor  German  monks  wich  mucb 
fioiiour,  as  a  deputation  from  the  great  Augustinian  ordei 
to  the  Pope. 

Tlie  manners  of  tliese  southern  people  are  very  gentle 
R,nd  courteous ;  but  they  are  lighter  in  their  treatment  of 
sacred  things  than  we  could  wish. 

The  splendour  of  the  furniture  and  dress  amazes  us ;  it 
is  difficult  to  reconcile  it  with  the  vows  of  poverty  and 
renunciation  of  the  woi'd.  But  I  suppose  they  regard  the 
vow  of  poverty  as  binding  not  on  the  community,  but  only 
on  the  individual  monk.  It  must,  however,  at  the  best,  be 
hard  to  live  a  severe  and  ascetic  life  amidst  such  luxuries. 
Many,  no  doubt,  do  not  try. 

The  tables  are  supplied  with  the  most  costly  and  deli- 
cate viands ;  the  walls  are  tapestried;  the  dresses  are  of 
fine  silk ;  the  floors  are  inlaid  with  rich  marbles. 

Poor,  poor  splendours,  as  substitutes  for  the  humblest 
home  ! 

Bologna,  Jxine. 

WE  did  not  remain  long  in  the  "Benedictine  monas- 
tery, for  this  reason :  Brother  Martin,  I  could 
see,  had  been  much  perplexed  by  their  luxurious  living ; 
but  as  a  guest,  had,  I  suppose,  scarcely  felt  at  liberty  to 
remonstrate  until  Fridry  came,  when,  to  our  amazement, 
the  table  was  covered  with  meats  and  fruits,  and  all  kinds 
of  viands,  as  on  any  otner  day.  regardless  not  only  of  the 
rules  of  the  order,  but  of  the  common  laws  of  the  whole 
Church. 

H^  would  touch  none  of  these  dainties  ;  but  not  content 
with  this  silent  protes*,  he  boldly  said  before  the  whole 
com])any,  "  The  Church  and  the  Pope  forbid  such  things." 

We  had  then  an  opportunity  of  seeing  into  what  the 
smoothness  of  these  Italian  manners  can  change  wher 
rufiled. 


FRITZ'S  STOUT.  167 

The  whole  bi'otherhood  burst  into  a  storm  of  iTidif»na- 
tion.  Their  dark  eyes  flashed,  tlieir  white  teeth  gleamed 
with  scornful  and  angry  laughter,  and  their  voices  rose  m 
a  tempest  of  vehement  words,  many  of  which  \rere  unin- 
telligible to  us. 

"  Intruders,"  "  barbarians,"  "  coarse  and  ignorant  Ger- 
nans,"  and  other  biting  epithets,  however,  we  could  too 
TV'cll  understand. 

Brother  Martin  stood  like  a  rock  amidst  the  torrent, 
and  tlireatened  to  make  their  luxury  and  disorder  known 
at  Rome. 

When  the  assembly  broke  up  Ave  noticed  the  brethren 
gather  apart  in  small  groups,  and  cast  scowling  glances  at 
us  when  we  chanced  to  pass  near. 

That  evening  the  porter  of  the  monastery  came  to  us 
priva-tely,  and  Avarned  us  that  this  convent  was  no  longer 
a  safe  resting-place  for  us. 

Whether  this  was  a  friendly  warning,  or  merely  a  de- 
vice of  the  brethren  to  get  rid  of  troublesome  guests,  I 
know  not ;  but  Ave  had  had  no  Avish  to  linger,  and  before 
the  next  day  dawned  Ave  crept  in  the  darkness  out  of  a 
side  gate  into  a  boat,  Avhich  we  found  on  the  river  which 
flows  beneath  the  Avails,  and  escaped. 

It  was  delightful  to  day  Avinding  along  the  side  of  a  hill, 
near  Bologna,  for  miles,  under  the  flickering  shade  of  trel- 
lises covered  Avith  vines.  But  Brother  Martin,  I  thought, 
looked  ill  and  weary. 

BoLoaxA. 

THANK  God,  Brother  Martin  is  reviving  aga5n.     Ho 
has  been  on  the  very  borders  of  the  grave. 
Whether  it  was  the  scorching  heat  through  w}iicb.tAve 
have  been  travelling,  or  the  malaria,  Avhich  affected  us  with 
catanh  one  night  Avhen  we  slept  Avith  our  Avindows  open, 
or  whelher  the  angry  monks  in  the  Benedictine  Abbey 


i6ft  771 E  SCIIONBKIiG-COTTA   FAMILr. 

mixed  some  poison  with  our  food,  I  know  not,  but  "we  had 
scarcely  reached  tliis  place  when  he  became  seriously  ill. 

As  I  Avatched  beside  him  I  learned  something  of  tho 
anguish  he  passed  through  at  our  convent  at  Erfurt.  The 
remembrance  of  his  sins,  and  the  terrors  of  God's  judg- 
ment riished  on  liis  mind,  weakened  by  suffering.  At 
rimes  he  recognised  that  it  was  the  hand  of  the  evil  ona 
«'hich  was  keeping  him  down.  "The  devil,"  he  Avould 
say,  "  is  the  accuser  of  the  brethren,  not  Christ.  Thou, 
Lord  Jesus,  art  my  forgiving  Saviour !"  And  then  he  Avould 
rise  above  the  floods.  Again  his  mind  would  bewildei 
itself  with  the  unfathomable — the  origin  of  evil,  the  rela- 
lion  of  our  free  will  to  God's  almighty  will. 

Then  I  ventured  to  recall  to  him  the  words  of  Dr.  Stau- 
jiitz  he  had  repeated  to  me ;  "  Behold  the  woimds  of  Jesus 
Christ,  and  then  thou  shalt  see  the  counsel  of  God  clearly 
shining  foi'th.  We  cannot  comprehend  God  out  of  Jesua 
Christ.  In  Christ  you  will  find  Avhat  God  is,  and  what  he 
requires.  You  Avill  find  him  nowhere  else,  Avhether  in 
heaven  or  on  earth." 

It  was  strange  to  find  myself,  untried  recruit  that  I  am, 
thus  attempting  to  give  refreshment  to  such  a  veteran  and 
victor  as  Brother  Martin ;  but  Avhen  the  strongest  are 
brought  into  sirigle  combats  such  as  these,  Avhich  must  be 
single,  a  feeble  hand  may  bring  a  draught  of  cold  Avater  to 
I  evi^  c  the  hero  betAveen  the  pauses  of  the  fight. 

The  victory,  hoAvever,  can  only  be  won  by  the  combat- 
.\nt  himself;  and  at  length  Brother  Martin  fought  his  Avay 
ihrougli  once  more,  and  as  so  often,  just  Avhen  the  fight 
beemed  hottest.  It  Avas  with  an  old  weapon  he  overcame, 
— "  TJie  just  shall  live  bij  fciiih.''^ 

Once  moi-e  the  words  which  have  helped  him  so  often, 
Avhich  so  frequently  he  has  repeated  on  this  journey,  came 
with  })OAver  to  his  mind.  Again  he  looked  to  the  crucified 
Haviour;  again  he  believed  in  Him  triumphant  and  readj 


t'RITZ'S  STORY.  169 

to  forgive  on  the  throne  of  grace  ;  and  again  his  spir;t  was 
in  the  light. 

His  strength  also  soon  began  to  return;  and  ji  a  few 
days  we  are  to  be  in  Rome. 

Rome. 
'~1"^IIE  pilgrimage  is  over.     The  holy  city  is  at  lengtl 

X      reached. 

Across  burning  plains,  under  trellised  vine  walks  on  the 
hill-sides,  over  wild,  craggy  mountains,  through  valleys 
green  with  chestnuts  and  olives  and  thickets  of  myrtle,  and 
fragrant  with  lavender  and  cistus,  Ave  walked,  until  at  last 
the  sacred  towers  and  domes  burst  on  our  sight,  across  a 
reach  of  the  Campagna ;  the  city  where  St.  Paul  and  St.  Pe- 
ter were  martyred,  the  metropolis  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

Thie  moment  we  came  in  sight  of  the  city  Brother  Mar- 
tin jirostrated  himself  on  the  earth,  and  lifting  up  his  hands 
to  heaven,  exclaimed, — 

"  Hail,  sacred  Rome  !  thrice  sacred  for  the  blood  of  the 
nurtyrs  here  shed." 

And  now  we  are  witnii.  the  sacred  walls,  lodged  in  the 
Augustinian  monastery,  near  to  the  northern  gate,  through 
which  we  entered,  called  by  the  Romans  the  "Porta  del 
Popolo." 

Already  Brother  Martin  has  celebrated  a  mass  in  the 
convent  church. 

And  to-morrow  we  may  kneel  where  apostles  and  mar- 
tyrs stood! 

We  may  ])erhaps  even  see  the  holy  father  himself. 

Are  we  indeed  nearer  heaven  here  ? 

It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  felt  God  nearer  that  night  in  the 
Black  Forest. 

There  is  so  much  tumult  and  movement  and  jjomjj 
Around  us  in  the  great  city. 

When,  however,  I  feel  it  more  familiar  and  home-like, 
perhaps  it  will  seem  more  heaven-like. 
8 


IX. 


ELSE'S   STORY. 


Eisenach,  Afril. 
I  HE  last  words  I  sliall  write  in  our  clear  old 
lutnber-room,  Fritz's  and  mine  !  I  have  littk 
to  regret  in  it  now,  however,  that  our  twiliglit 
talks  are  over  for  ever.  We  leave  early  tomor- 
row morning  for  Wittenberg.  It  is  strange  to  look  out 
into  the  old  street  and  think  how  all  will  look  exactly  the 
Barae  there  to-morrow  evening,  the  monks  slowly  pacing 
along  in  pairs,  the  boys  rushing  out  of  school  as  they  ai'e 
now,  tlie  maid-servants  standing  at  the  doors  Avith  tlie 
babes  in  their  arms,  or  wringing  their  mo}>s, — aiid  we 
gone.  How  small  a  blank  people  seem  to  make  when 
tliey  are  gone,  however  large  the  space  they  seemed  to 
fill  when  they  were  present — except,  indeed,  to  two  or 
three  hearts  !  I  see  this  with  Fritz.  It  seemed  to  mo 
our  little  world  must  fall  when  he,  its  chief  pillar,  was 
withdrawn.  Yet  now  everything  seems  to  go  on  the^ 
same  as  before  he  became  a  monk, — except,  indeed,  with 
ihe  mother,  and  Eva,  and  me. 

The  mother  seems  more  and  more  like  a  shadow  gliding 
n  and  out  among  us.  Tenderly,  indeed,  she  takes  on  her 
ill  she  can  of  our  family  cares  ;  but  to  family  joys  she 
seems    spiritless   and   dead.     Since  she   told   me   of   ihi 


ELSE'S  STORY.  171 

inclination  she  thinks  she  neglected  in  her  youth  towards 
tlie  cloister,  I  understand  her  better, — the  trembling  feat 
«vith  which  she  receives  any  good  thing,  and  the  hopeless 
submission  with  which  she  bows  to  every  trouble  as  to  the 
blow?  of  a  rod  always  suspended  over  her,  and  only  o'-ca 
fiionally  mercifully  withheld  from  striking. 

In  the  loss  of  Fritz  the  blow  has  fallen  exactly  whert 
she  would  feel  it  most  keenly.  She  had,  I  feel  sure,  planned 
another  life  for  him.  I  see  it  in  the  peculiar  tenderness 
of  the  tie  which  binds  her  to  Eva.  She  said  to  me  to-day, 
as  we  were  packing  up  some  of  Fritz's  books,  "  The  sacrifice 
I  was  too  selfish  to  make  myself,  my  son  has  made  for  me. 
Oh,  Else,  my  child,  give  at  once,  at  once,  whatever  God 
demands  of  you.  What  He  demands  must  be  given  at 
last, — and  if  only  wrung  out  from  us  at  last,  God  only 
knows  with  what  fearful  interest  the  debt  may  have  to  bo 
paid." 

The  words  weigh  on  me  like  a  curse.  I  cannot  help 
feeling  sometimes,  as  I  know  she  feels  always,  that  the 
family  is  under  some  fatal  spell. 

But  oh,  how  terrible  the  thought  is  that  this  is  the  way 
God  exacts  retribution  !  A  creditor,  exacting  to  the  last 
farthing  for  the  most  trifling  transaction,  and  if  payment 
is  delayed,  taking  life  or  limb  or  what  is  dearer  in  ex- 
change !  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  For  if  my  mother 
is  thus  visited  for  a  mistake,  for  neglecting  a  doubtful 
vocation,  my  pious,  sweet  mother,  what  hope  is  there  for 
ine,  whc  scarcely  pass  a  day  without  having  to  repent  of 
saying  some  sharp  word  to  those  boys  (who  certainly  are 
often  very  provoking),  or  doing  what  I  ought  not,  or 
omitting  some  religious  duty,  or  at  least  without  envying 
some  one  who  is  richer,  or  inwardly  murmuring  at  our  lot 
— even  sometimes  thinking  bitter  thoughts  of  our  fathef 
and  his  discoveries  ! 

Our  dear  fiither  ha?  at  !ast  arranged  and  fitted  in  all  hia 


72 


THE  8CH0NBERG-G0TTA  FAMILY. 


treasures,  and  is  the  only  one,  except  the  children,  wha 
Beems  tlioroughly  pleased  at  the  thought  of  our  emigra- 
tion. AH  day  he  has  been  packing  and  un}>ackuig  and 
repacking  his  machines  into  some  especially  safe  corners 
of  the  great  waggon  which  coixshi  Conrad  Cotta  has  lent 
as  for  our  journey. 

Eva,  on  the  other  hand,  seems  to  belong  to  this  world 
as  little  as  the  mother.  Not  that  she  looks  depressed  or 
hopeless.  Her  foce  often  perfectly  beams  with  peace ; 
but  it  seems  entirely  independent  of  everything  here,  and 
is  neither  rufHed  by  the  difficulties  we  encounter  nor  en- 
hanced  when  anything  goes  a  little  better.  I  must  confess 
it  rather  provokes  me,  almost  as  much  as  the  Ijoys  do.  I 
have  serious  fears  that  one  clay  she  will  leave  us,  like  Fritz 
and  take  refuge  in  a  con^'ent.  And  yet  I  am  sure  I  have 
not  a  fault  to  find  with  her.  I  suppose  that  is  exactly 
what  our  grandmother  and  I  feel  so  provoking.  Lately, 
she  has  abandoned  all  her  Latin  books  for  a  German  book 
entitled  "  Theologia  Teutsch,"  or  "  Theologia  Germanica," 
which  Fritz  sent  us  before  he  left  the  Erfurt  convent  on 
his  pilgrimage  to  Rome.  This  book  seems  to  make  Eva 
yoi-y  happy ;  but  as  to  me,  it  appears  to  me  more  unin- 
telligible than  Latin.  Although  it  is  quite  different  from 
all  the  other  religious  books  I  ever  read,  it  does  not  suit 
me  any  better.  Indeed,  it  seems  as  if  I  never  should  finil 
the  kind  of  religion  that  would  suit  me.  It  all  seems  so 
sublime  and  vague,  and  so  far  out  of  my  reach  ; — only  fit 
for  people  who  have  time  to  climb  the  heights  ;  whilst  my 
path  seems  to  lie  in  the  valleys,  and  among  the  streets,  and 
amidst  all  kinds  of  little  every-day  secular  duties  and 
cares,  which  religion  is  too  lofty  to  notice. 

I  can  only  hope  that  some  day  at  the  end  of  my  life 
God  will  graciously  give  me  a  little  leisure  to  be  religioufi 
and  to  prepare  to  meet  Ilim,  or  that  Evas  and  Fritz'f 
prayers  and  merits  Avill  avail  for  me. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  173 

WiTTKNBEua,  May,  IfjlO. 

WE  are  beginning  to  get  settled  into  our  new  home, 
which  is  in  the  street  near  the  University  build- 
ings Martin  Luther,  or  Brother  Martin,  has  a  great  name 
hwe  They  say  his  lectures  are  more  popular  than  any 
one's.  And  he  also  frequently  preaches  in  the  city  church. 
Our  grandmother  is  not  pleased  Avith  the  change.  She 
calls  the  town  a  wretched  mud  village,  and  wonders  what 
can  have  induced  the  Electors  of  Saxony  to  fix  their  resi- 
dence and  found  a  nniversity  in  such  a  sandy  desert  as 
this.  She  supposes  it  is  very  much  like  the  deserts  of 
Arabia. 

But  Christopher  and  I  think  diflerently.  There  are 
several  very  fine  buildings  here,  beautiful  churches,  and 
the  University,  and  the  Castle,  and  the  Augustinian  Mon- 
astery ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  in  time  the  lest  of  the 
town  will  grow  up  to  them.  I  have  heard  our  grandmother 
say  that  babies  Avith  features  too  large  for  tlioir  faces  often 
prove  the  handsomest  people  when  they  grow  up  to  their 
features.  And  so,  no  doubt,  it  will  be  with  Wittenberg, 
which  is  at  present  certainly  rather  like  an  infant  with  the 
eyes  and  nose  of  a  full-grown  man.  The  mud  walls  and 
low  cottages  with  thatched  roofs  look  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  new  buildings,  the  Elector's  palace  and 
church  at  the  western  end,  the  city  church  in  the  centre, 
and  the  Augustinian  cloister  and  University  at  the  eastern 
extremity,  near  the  Elster  gate,  close  to  which  we  live. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  no  forests  of  pines,  and  wild 
hills,  and  lovely  green  valleys  here,  as  around  Eisenach- 
Hut  our  grandmother  need  not  call  it  a  wilderness.  The 
white  sand-hills  on  the  north  are  broken  Avith  little  delli^ 
and  copses  ;  and  on  the  south,  not  two  hundred  rods  from 
the  town,  across  a  heath,  flows  the  broad,  rapid  Elbe. 

The  great  river  is  a  delight  to  me.  It  leads  one's 
tbouorlits  *^ck  to  its  ][uie(^  sources  among  the  mountains, 


74  THE  SGHONBERG-COriA  FAMILY. 

find  onwards  to  its  Lome  in  the  great  sea.  We  had  nft 
threat  river  at  Eisenach,  which  is  an  advantage  on  the  side 
of  Wittenberg.  And  then  the  banks  are  fringed  with 
low  oaks  and  willows,  which  bend  affectionately  over  tho 
water,  and  are  delightful  to  sit  amongst  on  summer  eveu- 
iugs. 

If  I  were  not  a  little  afraid  of  the  people  !  The  father 
does  not  like  Eva  and  me  to  go  out  alone.  The  students 
are  rather  wild.  This  year,  however,  they  have  been  for- 
bidden by  the  rector  to  carry  arms,  which  is  some  comfort. 
But  the  town's-people  also  are  warlike  and  turbulent,  and 
drink  a  great  deal  of  beer.  There  are  one  hundred  and 
seventy  breweries  in  the  place,  although  there  are  not 
jnore  than  three  hundred  and  lifty  houses.  Few  of  the 
inhabitants  send  their  children  to  school,  although  theie 
are  five  hundred  students  from  all  parts  of  Germany  at 
the  University. 

Some  of  the  poorer  people,  who  come  from  the  country 
around  to  the  markets,  talk  a  language  I  cannot  under- 
stand. Our  grandmother  says  they  are  Wends,  and  that 
this  town  is  the  last  place  on  the  borders  of  the  civihzed 
world.  Beyond  it,  she  declares,  there  are  nothing  but 
barbarians  and  Tartars.  Indeed,  she  is  not  sure  whether 
our  iieiglibours  themselves  are  Christians. 

St.  Boniface,  the  great  apostle  of  the  Saxons,  did  not 
extend  his  labours  further  than  Saxony  ;  and  she  says  the 
Teutonic  knights  who  conquered  Prussia  and  the  regions 
beyond  us,  were  only  Christian  colonists^  living  in  the 
midst  of  half-heathen  savages.  To  me  it  is  rather  a  gloomy 
idea,  to  think  that  between  Wittenberg  and  the  Turk?  and 
Tartars,  or  even  the  savages  in  the  Indies  beyond,  whid 
Christopher  Columbus  has  discovered,  there  are  only  a 
few  half-civilized  Weuds,  living  in  those  wretched  hamlets 
Which  dot  tlie  sandy  lieaths  around  the  town. 

But  tho  father  says  it  is  a  glorious  idea,  and  that,  if  h^ 


ELSE'S  STORY.  175 

irerc  only  a  little  younger,  he  would  organize  a  land  expa 
jlitiou,  and  traverse  the  country  until  he  reached  the  Span- 
iards and  the  Portuguese,  who  sailed  to  the  same  point 
hy  sea. 

"  Only  to  think,"  he  says,  "  that  in  a  few  weeks,  or 
months  at  the  utmost,  we  might  reach  Cathay,  El  Dorado, 
and  even  Atlantis  itself,  where  the  houses  are  roofed  and 
paved  with  gold,  and  return  laden  with  treasures  !"  It 
seems  to  make  him  feel  even  his  experiments  with  the 
retorts  and  crucibles  in  Avhich  he  is  always  on  the  point 
of  transmuting  lead  into  silver,  to  be  tame  and  slow  pro- 
cesses.  Since  we  have  been  here,  he  has  for  the  time 
abandoned  his  alchemical  experiments,  and  sits  for  houra 
■with  a  great  map  spread  before  him,  calculating  in  the 
most  accurate  and  elaborate  manner  how  long  it  Avould 
take  to  reach  the  new  Spanish  discoveries  by  way  of 
Wendish  Prussia.  "  For,"  he  remarks,  "  if  I  am  never 
able  to  carry  out  the  scheme  myself,  it  may  one  day 
immortalize  one  of  my  sons,  and  enrich  and  ennoble  the 
whole  of  our  family  !" 

Our  journey  from  Eisenach  was  one  continual  fete  to 
the  children.  For  ray  mother  and  the  baby — now  two 
years  old — we  made  a  couch  in  the  waggon,  of  the  family 
bedding.  My  grandmother  sat  erect  in  a  nook  among 
the  furniture.  Little  Thekla  was  enthroned  like  a  queen 
on  a  pile  of  pillows,  where  she  sat  hugging  her  own  espe- 
cial treasures, — her  broken  doll,  the  wooden  horse  Chris- 
topher made  for  her,  a  precious  store  of  cones  and  pebbles 
from  the  forest,  and  a  very  shaggy,  disreputable  foundling 
dog  which  she  has  adopted,  and  can  by  no  means  be  per- 
suaded to  part  with.  She  calls  the  dog  Nix,  and  is  sure 
that  he  is  always  asking  her  with  his  wistful  eyes  to  teach 
him  to  speak,  and  give  him  a  soul.  With  these,  her  house- 
hold gods,  preserved  to  her,  she  showed  little  feeling  al 
parting  from  the  rest  of  our  Eisenach  world. 


i    S  THE  SCHOWBmiQ-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

The  fatlier  was  equally  absorbed  with  his  ti-easiires,  hia 
folios,  and  models,  and  instruments,  which  he  jealously 
guarded. 

E\a  hail  but  one  inseparable  treasure,  the  volume 
of  the  "•  Theologia  Germanica,"  wliich  she  had  appro- 
priated. 

The  mother's  especial  thought  was  the  baby.  Chriemhild 
was  ove~wl\elmed  with  the  parting  with  Pollux,  who  was 
left  behind  Avith  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta;  and  Atlantis  Avas 
so  wild  with  delight  at  the  tliought  of  the  new  world  and 
the  new  life,  from  which  she  was  persuaded  all  the  cares 
of  the  old  were  to  be  extracted  forever,  that,  had  it  not 
been  for  Christopher  and  me,  I  must  say  the  general  inter- 
ests of  the  family  would  have  been  rather  in  the  back- 
ground. 

For  the  time  there  was  a  truce  between  Christopher  and 
me  concerning  "  Reinecke  Fuchs,"  and  our  various  differ- 
ences. All  his  faculties — which  have  been  so  prolific  for 
mischief— seemed  suddenly  turned  into  useful  channels, 
like  the  mischievous  elves  of  the  farm  and  hearth,  when 
they  are  capriciously  bent  on  doing  some  poor  human 
being  a  good  turn.  He  scarcely  tried  my  temi^er  once 
during  the  whole  journey.  Since  we  reached  Wittenberg, 
however,  I  cannot  say  as  much.  I  feel  anxious  about  the 
companions  he  has  found  among  the  students,  and  often, 
often  I  lone;  tliat  Fritz's  reliscion  had  led  him  to  remain 
among  us,  at  least  until  the  boys  had  grown  up. 

I  had  nerved  myself  beforehand  for  the  leave-taking 
with  the  old  friends  and  the  old  home,  but  Avhen  the  mov- 
ing actually  began,  there  was  no  time  to  think  of  anything 
but  packirg  in  the  last  things  which  had  been  nearly  for- 
gotten, and  arranging  every  one  in  their  places.  I  had  not 
even  a  moment  for  a  last  look  at  the  old  house,  for  at  the 
instant  we  turned  the  corner,  Thekla  and  her  troasurea 
nearly  camo  to  an  untimely  end  by  the  downfall  of  cne  of 


ELSE'S  STORY.  17- 

"ihe  t'ay.vj*  J  loachines ;  Avhich  so  discouraged  Tliekla,  and 
excited  oar  «rrandmother,  Nix,  and  th(;  baby,  that  it  re- 
quired coneulerable  sootliing  to  restore  every  one  to  equa- 
nimity ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  the  corner  of  the  street  had 
been  turned,  and  the  dear  old  liouse  was  out  of  sight.  1 
felt  a  pang,  as  if  I  had  wronged  it,  the  old  home  which 
had  sheltered  us  so  many  years,  and  been  the  silent  witness 
of  so  many  joys,  and  cares,  and  sorrows  I 

We  had  few  adventures  during  the  first  day,  except  that 
Theklit's  peace  was  often  broken  by  tlie  difticulties  in 
which  Nix's  self  confident  but  not  very  courageous  disposi- 
tion frequently  involved  him  with  the  cats  and  dogs  in  the 
village,  and  their  proprietors. 

The  first  evening  in  the  forest  was  delightful.  We  en- 
camped in  a  clearing.  Sticks  were  gathered  for  a  fire, 
round  which  we  arranged  such  bedding  and  furniture  as 
we  could  unpack,  and  the  children  were  wild  with  de- 
light at  thus  combining  serious  household  work  with  play, 
whilst  Christo])her  foddered  and  tethered  the  horses. 

After  our  meal  we  began  to  tell  stories,  but  our  grand 
mother  positively  forbade  our  mentioning  the  name  of  any 
of  the  forest  Ki)iites,  or  of  any  evil  or  questionable  creature 
whatever. 

In  the  night  I  could  not  sleep.  All  was  so  strange  and 
grand  around  us,  and  it  did  seem  to  me  that  there  were  wail- 
ings  and  sighings  and  distant  moanings  among  the  pines, 
not  quite  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  Avind.  I  grew  rather 
uneasy,  and  at  length  lifted  my  head  to  see  if  any  one  elst 
w  as  awake. 

Opposite  me  sat  Eva,  her  face  lifted  to  the  stars,  lier 
hands  clasped,  and  her  lips  moving  as  if  in  prayer.  I  felt 
her  like  a  guardian  angel,  and  instinctively  drew  nearer  to 
her. 

"  Eva,"  I  whispered  at  last,  "  do  you  not  think  there 
irc  rather  strange  and  unaccountable  noises  around  us  ?    I 


78  THE  SCHCNBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

wonder  if  it  can  be  true  that  strange  creatures  haunt  tha 
forests." 

"I  think  there  are  always  spirits  around  us,  Cousin 
Else,"  she  replied,  "good  and  evil  spirits  prowling  around 
us,  or  ministering  to  us.  I  suppose  in  the  solitude  we  feel 
them  nearer,  and  perhaps  they  are." 

I  was  not  at  all  ro-assured. 

"  Eva,"  I  said,  "I  wish  you  vrould  say  some  prayers ;  I 
feel  afraid  I  may  not  think  of  the  right  ones.  But  are  you 
really  not  at  all  afraid  ?" 

"  Why  sl»ould  I  be  ?"  she  said  softly ;  "  God  is  nearer 
us  always  than  all  the  spirits,  good  or  evil, — nearer  and 
greater  than  all.  And  he.  is  the  Supreme  Goodness.  I  liko 
the  solitude,  Cousin  Else,. because  it  seems  to  lift  me  abov« 
all  the  creatures  to  the  One  who  is  all  and  in  all.  And  / 
like  the  wild  forests,"  she  continued,  as  if  to  herself,  "be' 
cause  God  is  the  only  owner  there,  and  I  can  feel  more  ul 
reservedly,  tliat  we,  a'.jd  the  creatu.-s,  and  all  we  most  call 
our  own.  are  his,  and  only  his.  In  the  cities,  the  houses 
are  called  after  the  names  of  men,  and  each  street  and 
house  is  divided  into  little  plots,  of  each  of  which  some 
one  says,  '  It  is  mine.''  But  here  all  is  visibly  only  God's, 
undivided,  common  to  all.  There  is  but  one  table,  and 
that  is  his;  the  creatures  live  as  free  pensioners  on  hia 
Vounty." 

"Is  it  then  sin  to  call  anything  our  own?"  I  asked. 

"  My  book  says  it  v/as  this  selfishness  that  was  the  cause 
of  Adam's  fall,"  she  replied.  "  Some  say  it  was  because 
Adam  ate  the  apple  that  he  was  lost,  or  fell ;  but  my  book 
Bays  it  was  '  because  of  his  claiming  soiaething  for  his  own ; 
and  because  of  his  saying,  I,  mine,  me.  and  the  like.' " 

That  is  very  difficu)'^  to  understand.  I  said,  "Am  I  not 
to  say,  my  mother,  my  father,  my  Fritz?  Ought  I  ':o  love 
every  one  the  same  because  all  are  equally  God's  ?  If  pro- 
perty is  sin,  then  why  is  stealing  sin  ?     Eva,  this  religion 


ELSE'S  STORY.  179 

ig  quite  above  and  beyond  me.  It  seems  to  me  ii.  this  way 
It  ^^ould  be  almost  as  wrong  to  give  thanks  for  what  we 
have,  as  to  covet  what  we  have  not.  because  we  ought  not 
to  Ihink  we  liave  anything.     It  perplexes  me  extremely." 

I  lay  down  again,  resolved  not  to  think  any  more  about 
it  Fritz  and  I  proved  once,  a  long  time  ago,  how  useless 
it  is  for  me,  at  least,  to  attempt  to  get  beyond  the  Ten 
Commandments.  But  trying  to  comprehend  what  Eva 
said  so  bewildered  me,  that  my  thoughts  soon  wandered 
beyond  my  control  altogether.  I  heard  no  more  of  Eva 
or  the  winds,  but  fell  into  a  sound  slumber,  and  dreamt 
that  Eva  and  an  angel  were  talking  beside  me  all  night  in 
Latin,  which  I  felt  I  ought  to  understand,  but  of  course 
could  not. 

The  next  day,  we  had  not  been  long  on  our  journey, 
when,  at  a  narrow  part  of  the  road,  in  a  deep  valley,  a 
company  of  horsemen  suddenly  dashed  down  from  a  castle 
which  towered  on  our  right,  and  barred  our  further  pro- 
gress with  serried  lances. 

"  Do  you  belong  to  Erfurt  ?"  asked  the  leader,  turning 
our  horses'  heads,  and  pushing  Christopher  aside  with  the 
butt  end  of  his  gun. 

"  No,"  said  Christopher,  "  to  Eisenach." 

"Give  way,  men,"  shouted  the  knight  to  his  followers; 
"  we  have  no  quarrel  with  Eisenach.  This  is  not  what  wo 
are  waiting  for." 

The  cavaliers  made  a  passage  for  us,  but  a  young  knight, 
wlio  seemed  to  lead  them,  rode  on  beside  us  for  a  time. 

"Did  you  pass  any  merchandise  on  your  road?"  he 
asked  of  Christopher,  using  the  form  of  address  he  would 
have  to  a  peasant. 

"  We  are  -uot  likely  to  pass  anything,"  replied  Chrisi  o 
pher,  not  very  courteously,  "  laden  as  we  ai'C." 

"  What  is  your  lading  ?"  asked  the  knight. 

"All  our  worldly  goods,"  replied  Chrii^topber,  crrtly. 


l8o  THE  SClIONBRJiG'COTTA  FAMILY. 

"  What  is  your  name,  friend,  and  where  are  you  bound  ?" 

"  Cotta,"  answered  Christopher.  "My  father  is  the 
dire  itor  of  the  Elector's  printing  jress  at  the  new  Univer' 
sity  of  Wittenberg." 

"  Cotta !"  rejoined  the  knight  more  respectfully,  "  a 
good  burgher  name ;"  and  saying  this  he  rode  back  to  the 
waggon  ,  and  saluting  our  father,  surveyed  us  all  witli  a 
cool  freedom,  as  if  his  notice  honoured  us,  until  his  eye 
lighted  on  Eva,  who  was  sitting  with  her  arm  round  Thekla, 
soothing  the  friglitened  child,  and  helping  her  to  arrange 
some  violets  Christopher  had  gathered  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore. Hid  voice  lowered  when  he  saw  her,  and  he 
said, — 

"  This  is  no  burgher  maiden,  surely  ?  May  1  ask  your 
name,  fair  Fraiilein  ?"  he  said,  doffing  his  hat,  and  address- 
ing Eva. 

She  made  no  I'oply,  but  continued  arranging  her  floM'ers, 
without  changing  feature  or  colour,  except  that  hei'  lip 
curled  and  quivered  slightly. 

"  The  Fraiilein  is  absorbed  wnth  her  bouquet ;  would 
that  we  were  nearer  our  Schloss,  that  I  might  ofl'er  her 
flowers  more  worthy  of  her  handling." 

"  Are  you  addressing  me  ?"  said  Eva  at  length,  raising 
her  large  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  him  with  her  gi-avest 
expression ;  "  I  am  no  Fraiilein,  I  am  a  burgher  maiden ; 
but  if  I  were  a  queen,  any  of  God's  flowers  would  be  fair 
enough  for  me.  And  to  a  true  knight,"  she  added,  "  a 
peasant  maiden  is  as  sacred  as  a  queen." 

No  one  ever  could  trifle  with  that  earnest  expressi  :n  of 
Eva's  face  It  was  his  turn  to  be  abashed.  His  effrontery 
faihd  him  altogether,  and  he  murmured,  "I  have  merited 
the  rebuke.  These  flowers  are  too  fair,  at  least  for  me 
If  you  would  bestow  one  on  me,  I  would  keep  it  sacredly 
as  a  gift  of  my  mother's,  or  as  the  relics  of  a  saint." 

"  You  can  gather  them  anywhere  in   the  forest,"  said 


ELSE'S  STOET.  i8 

Eva,  but  little  Thekla  filled  both  he'  little  nands  with 
violets,  and  gave  them  to  him. 

"  You  may  have  them  all  if  you  like,"  she  said ;  "  Chris- 
topher can  gather  us  plenty  more." 

He  took  them  carefully  from  the  child's  hand,  and,  bow- 
ing low,  rejoined  his  men  who  Avere  in  front.  He  then 
returned,  said  a  few  words  to  Christopher,  and  with  his 
troop  retired  to  some  distance  behhid  us,  and  followed  us 
till  we  were  close  to  Erfurtj  when  he  spuri'ed  o'l  to  my 
father's  side,  and  saying  rapidly,  "  You  will  be  safe  now, 
and  need  no  further  convoy,"  once  more  bowed  respect- 
fidly  to  us,  and  rejoining  his  men,  we  soon  lost  the  echo  oi 
their  horse-lioofs,  as  they  galloped  back  through  the  forest. 

"  What  did  the  knight  say  to  you,  Christopher  ?"  1 
aaked,  when  we  dismounted  at  Erfurt  that  evening. 

"  He  said  that  part  of  the  forest  was  dangerous  at 
present,  because  of  a  feud  between  the  knights  and  the 
burghers,  and  if  we  would  allow  him,  he  Avould  be  our 
escort  until  we  came  in  sight  of  Erfurt." 

"  That,  at  least,  was  courteous  of  him,"  I  said. 

"  Such  courtesy  as  a  burgher  may  expect  of  a  knight," 
rejoined  Christopher,  uncompromisingly ;  "  to  insult  ua 
without  provocation,  and  then,  as  a  favour,  exempt  us 
from  their  own  illegal  oppressions!  But  women  are 
always  fascinated  with  what  men  on  horseback  do." 

"  No  one  is  fascinated  with  any  one,"  I  replied.  For  it 
always  provokes  me  exceedingly  when  that  boy  talks  in 
that  way  about  women.  And  our  grandmother  inter- 
posed, — "Don't  dispute,  children;  if  your  grandfather 
had  not  been  unfortunate,  you  would  have  been  of  tlie 
knights'  order  yourselves,  therefore  it  is  not  for  you  to 
/un  down  the  nobles." 

"  I  should  never  have  been  a  knight,"  persisted  Chris- 
topher, "  or  a  priest,  or  a  robber."  But  it  was  consola- 
tory to  my  grandmother  and  me  to  consider  how  exalted 


l82  TEE  SGHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY 

our  position  would  have  been,  had  it  not  been  for  cei'tain 
little  unfortunate  hindrances.  Our  grandmother  never 
admitted  my  father  into  the  pedigree. 

At  Leipsic  we  left  the  children,  while  our  grandmother 
our  mother,  Eva,  and  I  went  on  foot  to  see  Aunt  Agnes 
at  the  convent  of  Nimptschen,  whither  she  had  been  trans- 
ferred, some  years  before,  from  Eisenach. 

We  only  saw  her  through  the  convent  grating.  But  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  the  voice,  and  manner,  and  face  were 
entirely  unchanged  since  that  last  interview  when  she  ter« 
rifled  me  as  a  child  by  asking  me  to  become  a  sister,  and 
abandon  Fritz. 

Only  the  voice  sounded  to  me  even  more  like  a  muffled 
bell  used  only  for  funerals,  especially  when  she  said,  in 
reference  to  Fritz's  entering  the  cloister,  "  Praise  to  God, 
and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  all  the  saints.  At  last,  then, 
He  has  heard  my  unworthy  prayers ;  one  at  least  is  saved  !" 

A  cold  shudder  passed  over  me  at  her  words.  Had  she 
then,  indeed,  all  these  years  been  praying  that  our  happi- 
ness should  be  ruined  and  our  home  desolated  ?  And  had 
God  heard  her  ?  Was  the  fatal  spell,  which  my  mother 
feared  was  binding  us,  after  all  nothing  else  than  Aunt 
Agnes's  terrible  prayers  ? 

Her  face  looked  as  lifeless  as  ever,  in  the  folds  of  white 
linen  which  bound  it  into  a  regular  oval.  Her  voice  waa 
metallic  and  lifeless  ;  the  touch  of  her  hand  was  impassive 
and  cold  as  marble  when  we  took  leave  of  her.  My  mother 
wept,  and  said,  "  Dear  Agnes,  perhaps  we  may  never  meet 
again  on  earth." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  will  not  forget  us,  sister  ?"  said  my  mother. 

"  I  never  forget  you,"  was  the  reply,  in  the  s;ime  deep, 
low,  firm,  irresponsive  voice,  which  seemed  as  il*  it  had 
never  vibrated  to  anything  taore  human  than  an  orgao 
playing  Gregorian  chants. 


ELSE'S  STORT.  kSj 

And  the  words  eclio  in  my  heart  to  this  instant,  like  a 
knell. 

She  never  forgets  us. 

Nightly  in  her  vigils,  daily  in  church  and  cell,  she 
watches  over  us,  and  prays  God  not  to  let  us  be  too 
happy. 

And  God  hears  hor,  and  grants  her  prayers.  It  is  too 
clear  he  does  Had  she  not  been  asking  hira  to  make 
Fritz  a  monk  ?  and.  is  not  Fritz  separated  from  us  for  ever  ? 

"How  did  you  like  the  convent,  Eva?"  I  said  to  her 
that  night  when  we  were  alone. 

"  It  seemed  very  still  and  peaceful,"  she  said.  •'  I  think 
one  could  be  very  happy  there.  There  would  be  so  much 
time  for  prayer.  One  could  perhaps  more  easily  lose  self 
there,  and  become  nearer  to  God." 

"  But  what  did  you  think  of  Aunt  Agnes  ?" 

"  I  felt  drawn  to  her.     I  think  she  has  suffered." 

"She  seems  to  me  dead  alike  to  joy  or  sufie»-ing,"  1 
yaid. 

"  But  people  do  not  thus  die  without  pain,"  said  Eva 
very  gravely. 

Our  house  at  Wittenberg  is  small.  From  the  upper 
windows  we  look  over  the  city  Avails,  across  the  heath,  to 
the  Elbe,  which  gleams  and  sparkles  between  its  willows 
and  dwarf  oaks.  Behind  the  house  is  a  plot  of  neglected 
ground,  which  Christopher  is  busy  at  his  leisure  hours 
trenching  and  spading  into  an  herb-garden.  We  are  to 
have  a  few  flowers  on  the  borders  of  the  straight  walk 
which  intersects  it, — daffodils,  pansies,  roses,  and  sweet 
violets,  and  gillitlowers,  and  wallflowers.  At  the  end  (>{ 
the  garden  are  two  apple  trees  and  a  pear  tree,  which  htid 
ehed  their  blossoms  just  before  we  arrived,  in  a  carpet  of 
pink  and  white  petals.  Under  the  shade  of  these  I  carrv 
my  embroidery  frame,  when  the  house  work  is  finished 
suid  sometimes  little  Thekla  comes  and  prattles  to  me,  anJ 


l84  THE  SCHdKEERO-COTTA  F.iMILV. 

Bometimes  Eva  reads  and  sings  to  me.  1  cannot  help  r'> 
gretting  that  lately  Eva  is  so  absorbed  with  that  "Theo- 
logia  Germanica."  I  cannot  understand  it  as  well  as  I  do 
the  Latin  hymns  when  once  she  has  translated  them  to  me  ; 
for  these  speak  of  Jesus  the  Saviour,  who  left  the  heavenly 
home  and  sat  weary  by  the  way  seeking  for  us ;  or  of 
Mary,  his  dear  mother;  and  although  sometimes  they  tell 
of  wrath  and  judgment,  at  all  events  I  know  what  it  means. 
But  this  other  book  is  all  to  me  one  dazzling  haze,  without 
sun,  or  moon,  or  stars,  or  heaven,  or  earth,  or  seas,  or  any- 
thing distinct, — but  all  a  blaze  of  indistinguishable  glory, 
which  is  God ;  the  One  who  is  all — a  kind  of  ocean  of 
goodness,  in  which,  in  some  mysterious  way,  we  ought  to 
be  absorbed.  But  I  am  not  an  ocean,  or  any  part  of  one; 
and  I  cannot  love  an  ocean,  because  it  is  infinite,  or  un. 
fathomable,  or  all  sufficient,  or  anything  else. 

My  mother's  thought  of  God,  as  watching  lest  we  should 
be  too  happy  and  love  any  one  more  than  himself,  remem- 
bering the  mistakes  and  sins  of  youth,  and  delaying  to 
punish  them  rtntll  just  the  moment  when  the  punishmeut 
would  be  most  keenly  felt,  is  dreadful  enough.  But  even 
that  is  not  to  me  so  bewildering  and  dreary  as  this  all- 
absorbing  Being  in  Eva's  book.  The  God  my  mother 
dreads  has  indeed  eyes  of  severest  justice,  and  a  frown  of 
wrath  against  the  sinner  ;  but  if  once  one  could  learn  how 
to  please  him,  tlie  eyes  might  smile,  the  frown  might  pass. 
It  is  a  countenance,  and  a  heart  which  would  meet  ours. 
But  when  Eva  reads  her  book  to  me,  I  seem  to  look  up 
into  heaven  and  see  nothing  but  heaven — light,  space,  in- 
iinity,  and  still  on  and  on,  infinity  and  light ;  a  moral  light, 
indeed — perfection,  purity,  goodness;  but  no  eyes  1  can 
look  into,  no  heart  to  meet  mine — none  whom  I  could 
speak  to,  or  touch,  or  see. 

This  evening  we  opened  our  window  and  lo>)ked  oiiJ 
across  the  heath  to  the  Elbe. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  i8c 

The  town  wfts  quite  liusliecl.  The  space  of  sky  above 
tofl  over  the  plain  looked  so  large  and  deep.  "We  seemed 
to  see  range  after  range  of  stars  beyond  eacli  other  in  the 
clear  air.  The  only  sound  v\'as  the  distant,  steady  rush  of 
tlie  broad  r'vev,  which  gleamed  here  and  there  in  the  star- 
light. 

Eva  was  looking  up  with  her  calm,  bright  look.  "  Thine !" 
she  murmured,  "  all  this  is  Thine  ;  and  we  are  Thine,  and 
Thou  art  here!  TIow  much  happier  it  is  to  be  able  to  look 
up  and  feel  there  is  no  barrier  of  our  own  poor  ownership 
between  us  and  Him,  the  possessor  of  lieaven  and  earth  ' 
How  much  poorer  we  should  be  if  we  were  lords  of  thia 
land,  like  the  Elector,  and  if  we  said,  '  All  this  is  mine  1' 
aud  so  saw  only  I  and  mine  in  it  all,  instead  of  God  and 
God's !" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  if  we  ended  in  saying  I  and  mine  ;  but 
I  should  be  very  thankful  if  God  gave  me  a  little  more  out 
of  his  abundance,  to  use  for  our  wants.  And  yet,  how 
much  better  things  are  with  us  than  they  were  ; — the  ap- 
pointment of  my  father's  as  director  of  the  Elector's  prhit- 
ing  establishment,  instead  of  a  precarious  struggle  for  our 
selves  ;  and  this  embroidery  of  mine  !  It  seems  to  me, 
Eva,  sometimes,  Ave  might  l>e  a  happy  family  yet." 

"  My  book,"  she  replied  thoughtfully,  "  says  we  shall 
never  be  truly  satisfied  in  God,  or  truly  free,  unless  all 
things  ai*e  one  to  us,  and  One  is  all,  and  something  and 
nothing  are  alike.  I  suppose  I  am  not  quite  truly  free, 
Cousin  Else,  for  I  cannot  like  this  place  quite  us  much  as 
the  old  Eisenach  home." 

I  began  to  feel  quite  nnpatient,  and  I  said, — "  Nor  can 
I  or  any  of  us  ever  feel  any  home  quite  the  same  again, 
since  Fritz  is  gone.  But  as  to  feeling  something  and  noth- 
ing are  ahke,  I  never  can,  and  I  will  never  try.  One  might 
as  well  be  dead  at  once." 

"Yes,"  said  Eva  gravely;  "I  suppose  we  shall  nevor 


l86  TEE  8Cn0NBEBG-G0T2A  FAMILY. 

comprehend  it  quite,  or  be  quite  satisfied  and  fi^e,  imtJ 
we  die." 

We  talked  no  more  tliat  night ;  bat  1  heard  her  singing 
one  of  her  favourite  hymns  : — * 

Iij  thf  fount  of  life  perennial  the  parched  heart  its  thirst  would  8lak(5, 
And  the  ?oul,  in  flesh  imprisoned,  longs  her  prison-walls  to  break,— 
Exile,  seeking,  sighing,  yearning  in  her  Fatherland  to  wake. 

When  with  cares  oppressed  and  sorrows,  only  groans  her  grief  can  teU, 
Then  she  contemplates  the  glory  which  she  lost  when  first  sLe  fell : 
Memory  of  the  vanishes'  good  the  present  evil  can  but  swell. 

Who  can  utter  what  the  pleasures  and  the  peace  unbroken  are 
Where  arise  the  pearly  mansions,  shedding  silvery  light  afar — 
Festive  seats  and  golden  roofs,  which  glitter  like  the  evening  star  ? 

Wholly  of  fair  stones  most  precious  are  those  radiant  stiuotures  made 
With  pure  gold,  like  glass  transparent,  are  those  shining  streets  inlaid 
Nothing  that  defiles  can  enter,  nothing  that  can  soil  or  fade. 

Stormy  winter,  burning  summer,  rage  within  those  regions  never ; 
But  perpetual  bloom  of  roses,  and  unfading  spring  for  ever  ; 
Lilies  gleam,  the  crocus  glows,  and  dropping  balms  their  9cent§  d« 
liver ; 

Honey  pure,  and  greenest  pastures, — this  the  land  of  promise  is: 
Liquid  odours  soft  distilling,  jierfumes  breathing  on  the  breeze; 
Fruits  immortal  cluster  always  on  the  leafy,  fadeless  treea. 

Tliere  no  moon  shines  chill  and  changing,  there  no  stars  with  tvsSnk 

ling  ray, — 
For  the  Lamb  of  that  blest  city  is  at  once  the  sun  and  day , 
Night  ajid  time  are  known  no  longer, — day  shall  never  fade  aiaj, 

*  Ad  perennis  vitse  fontem  mens  sitivit  arida, 
Claastra  carnis  prresto  frangi  clausa  quserit  animo, 
Gliscit,  ambit,  electatur,  exul  frui  patria. 
etc.  etc.,  etc. 

The  translathm  only  is  given  above. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  187 

5>kflre  the  B<»ints,  like  snn^,  are  radiant, — like  the  sun  at  di'WTJ  they 

(flow ; 
Crowned  victors  after  conflict,  all  their  joya  together  flo  v; 
And,  secure,  tbey  count  the  battles  where  they  fought  the  proatrate 

foe. 

Every  hUin  of  flesh  is  cleansed,  every  strife  is  left  behind  ; 

SpL'itual  are  their  bodies, — perfect  unity  of  mind  ; 

]")welling  in  deeo  peace  for  ever,  no  offence  or  grief  they  f.nd. 

Putting  off  tlieir  mortal  vesture,  in  their  Source  their  souls  they  steep,— 
Truth  by  actual  vision  learning,  on  its  form  their  gaze  they  keep, — 
Drinking  from  the  J-iving  Fountain  draughts  of  living  waters  deep. 

Time,  with  al\  iis  alternations,  enters  not  those  hosts  among. — 
Glorious,  wakeixu,  blest,  no  shade  of  chance  or  change  o'er  them  ig 

flung; 
Sickness  cannot  iDUch  the  deatliless,  nor  old  age  the  ever  young. 

There  their  being  is  eternal, — tbings  that  cease  have  ceased  to  be; 
All  corruption  there  has  perished, — there  they  flourish  strong  and 

free ; 
'i'hus  mortality  is  swallowed  up  of  life  eternally. 

Nought  from  them  is  hidden, — knowing  Him  to  whom  all  things  arc 

known. 
All  the  spirit's  deep  recesses,  sinless,  to  each  other  shown, — 
Unity  of  will  and  purpose,  heart  and  mind  for  ever  one. 

Diverse  as  their  varied  labours  the  rewards  to  each  that  fall; 
But  Love,  what  she  loves  in  others  evermore  her  own  doth  call: 
Thus  the  several  joy  of  each  becomes  the  common  joy  of  alL 

Where  the  body  is,  tliere  ever  are  the  eagles  gatlieriid  ; 

For  the  saints  and  for  tlie  angels  one  most  b/essod  feast  is  sprefwi,'^ 

Citizens  of  either  country  living  on  the  self-same  bread. 

Ever  filled  and  ever  seeking,  what  they  have  they  still  desire ; 
Jlunger  there  shall  fret  them  never,  nor  satiety  sliall  tire, — 
Still  enjoying  whilst  aspiring,  in  their  joy  they  still  aspira 

There  the  new  song,  new  for  ever,  those  melodious  voices  sing, — 
Ceaseless  streams  of  fullest  music  through  those  blessed  regions  ritg 
Crowned  victors  ever  bringing  pr'iist's  worthy  of  the  King  . 


1 88  TEE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Blessed  who  the  King  of  Heaven  in  his  beauty  thus  behold, 
And,  beneath  bis  throne  rejoicing-,  see  the  universe  unfold, — 
Sun  ami  moon,  and  stars  ivnd  planets,  radiant  in  his  liglit  unrolled 

t^hrist,  the  Palm  of  faithful  victors  !  of  that  city  malce  me  free ; 
When  my  warfare  shall  be  ended,  to  its  mansions  lead  thou  me ; 
Grant  me,  with  its  happy  inmates,  sharer  of  tliy  gifts  to  be ! 

Let  thj-  soldier,  stih  contending,  still  be  with  thy  strength  suppliet 
Thou  wilt  not  deny  the  quiet  when  the  arms  are  laid  aside  ; 
Make  me  meet  with  thee  for  ever  in  that  country  to  abide ! 

Passion    Weeh 

WITTENBERG  has  been  very  full  this  week.  There 
have  been  great  mystery-plays  m  the  City  Church ; 
a7id  in  the  Electoral  Church  {Schloss  Kirche)  all  the  relics 
have  been  solemnly  exhibited.  Crowds  of  pilgrims  have 
come  from  all  the  neighbouring  villages,  Wendish  and 
Saxon.  It  has  been  very  unpleasant  to  go  about  tho 
streets,  so  much  beer  has  been  consumed ;  and  the  stu- 
dents and  peasants  have  had  frequent  encounters.  It  is 
certainly  a  comfort  that  there  are  large  indulgences  to  bo 
obtained  by  visiting  the  relics,  for  the  pilgrims  seem  to 
need  a  great  deal  of  indulgence. 

The  sacred  mystery-plays  Avere  very  magnificent.  The 
Judas  was  wonderfully  hateful, — hunchbacked,  and  dressed 
like  a  rich  Jewish  miser ;  and  the  devils  were  dreadful 
enough  to  terrify  the  children  for  a  year.  Little  Thekla 
was  dressed  in  white,  Avith  gauze  Avings,  and  made  a  lovely 
Bngel— and  enjoyed  it  very  much.  They  wanted  Eva  to 
represent  one  of  the  holy  women  at  the  cross,  but  she 
would  not.  Indeed  she  nearly  wept  at  the  thought,  and 
did  not  seem  to  like  the  whole  ceremony  at  all.  '•■  It  all 
really  happened!"  she  said;  '" they  really  crucihtd  Him! 
And  lie  i.^  risen,  and  living  in  heaven;  and  I  cannot  bear 
t'O  see  it  perfoimed  like  a  fable." 

The  second  day  there  *vas  certainly  more  jesting  au«3 


ELSE'S  8T0RT.  189 

satire  than  I  liked.     Christopher  said  it  reminded  him  of 
"  Rieiiecke  Fuchs." 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  day  we  missed  Eya,  and 
<rhen  in  a  few  hours  I  came  back  to  the  house  to  seek  her, 
I  found  her  kneeling  by  our  bed-side,  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  I  drew  her  towards  me,  but  I  could 
not  discover  tliat  anything  at  all  was  the  matter,  except 
that  the  young  knight  who  had  stopped  us  in  the  forest 
had  bowed  very  respectfully  to  her,  and  had  shown  her  a 
few  dried  violets,  which  he  said  he  should  always  keep  in 
remembi'ance  of  her  and  her  Avords. 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  so  unpardonable  an  offence,  and  I 
said  so. 

"  He  had  no  right  to  keep  anything  for  my  sake,"  she 
sobbed.  "  No  one  will  ever  have  any  ri'ght  to  keep  any- 
thing for  my  sake ;  and  if  Fritz  Jiad  been  nere,  he  would 
never  have  allowed  it." 

"  Little  Eva,"  I  said,  "  what  has  become  of  your  '  Theo- 
logia  Teutsch  ?'  Your  book  says  you  are  to  take  all  things 
meekly,  and  be  indifferent,  I  suppose,  alike  to  admiration 
or  reproach." 

"  Cousin  Else,"  said  Eva  very  gravely,  rising  and  stand- 
iug  erect  before  me  with  clasped  hands,  "I  have  not  learned 
the  'Theologia'  through  well  yet,  but  I  mean  to  try. 
The  world  seems  to  me  very  evil,  and  very  sad.  And 
there  seems  no  place  in  it  for  an  orphan  girl  like  me. 
There  is  no  rest  except  in  being  a  wife  or  a  nun.  A  wife 
I  shall  never  be,  and  therefore,  dear,  dear  Else,"  sfie  con 
tinned,  kneeling  down  again,  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  me,  "  I  have  just  decided — I  will  go  to  the  convent 
where  Aimt  Agnes  is,  and  be  a  nun." 

I  did  not  attempt  to  remonstrate ;  but  the  next  day  I 
told  the  mother,  who  said  gravely,  "  She  will  be  happier 
Ihere,  poor  child  !     We  must  let  her  go." 

l^ut  she  became  pale  as  death,  her  lip  quivered,  and  she 


190 


THE  SCHdNBBBG-  WTTA  FAMILY. 


added;  —"Yes,  God  must  have  tlie  choicest  of  all.  It  is  in 
vain  indeed  to  light  against  him."  Then,  fearing  she  might 
liave  wounded  me,  she  kissed  me  and  said, — "  Since  Frita 
left,  stie  has  gi'own  so  very  dear;  but  how  can  I  murmur 
vrlien  my  loving  Else  is  spared  to  us  ?" 

"  Mother,"  I  said,  "  do  you  think  Aunt  Agnes  has  beea 
praying  again  for  this  ?" 

"  Probably,"  she  replied,  Avith  a  startled  look.  "  She 
did  1  jok  very  earnestly  at  Eva." 

"  Then,  mother,"  I  replied,  "  I  shall  write  to  Aunt  Ag- 
nes at  once,  to  tell  her  that  she  is  not  to  make  any  such 
prayers  for  you  or  for  me.  Fo>',  as  to  me,  it  is  entirely 
useless.  And  if  you  were  to  imitate  St.  Elizabeth,  and 
leave  us,  it  would  break  all  our  hearts,  and  the  family 
would  go  to  ruin  altogether. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Else  ?"  replied  my  mother 
meekly.  "  It  is  too  late  indeed  for  me  to  think  of  being  a 
saint.  I  can  never  hope  for  anything  beyond  this,  that 
God  in  his  great  mercy  may  one  day  pardon  me  my  sins, 
and  receive  me  as  the  lowest  of  his  creatures,  for  the  sakti 
of  his  dear  Son  Avho  died  upon  the  cross.  What  could  you 
mean  by  my  imitating  St.  Elizabeth  ?" 

I  felt  re-assured,  and  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  l-^aring 
it  might  suggest  what  I  dreaded  to  my  mother. 

Wittenberg,  June  14. 

AND  so  Eva  and  Fritz  are  gone,  the  two  religious 
ones  of  the  family.  They  are  gone  into  their  sepa- 
rate convents,  to  be  made  saints,  and  have  left  us  all  to 
struggle  on  in  the  world  without  ihem, — with  all  that 
helped  us  to  be  less  earthly  taken  from  us.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  a  lovely  picture  of  the  Holy  Mother  had  been 
removed  from  the  dwelling-room  since  Eva  has  gone,  and 
instead  we  had  nothing  left  but  family  portraits,  and  j^aint- 
Ijigs  of  common  earthly  things ;  or  as  if  a  window  opening 


ELSE'S  STORY.  194 

I'UV'ards  the  stars  had  been  covered  by  a  low  ceiling.    gh« 
vas  always  like  a  little  bit  of  heaven  among  us. 

I  miss  her  in  our  little  room  at  night.  Her  ])rayer8 
E  ;>emed  to  hallow  it.  I  miss  her  SAveet,  holy  songs  at  my 
embroidery  ;  and  noAV  I  have  nothing  to  turn  my  thoughts 
frooi  the  arrangements  for  to-morrow,  and  the  troubles  of 
jesterday,  and  the  perplexities  of  to-day.  I  had  no  idea 
h jvv  I  must  haAe  been  leaning  on  her.  She  always  seemed 
fco  child-like,  and  so  above  my  petty  cares — and  in  practi- 
ce' things  I  certainly  understood  much  more ;  and  yet,  in 
S'-aie  May,  whenever  I  talked  anything  over  with  her,  it 
9r'ways  seemed  to  take  the  burden  away, — to  change  cares 
pMto  duties,  and  clear  my  thoughts  wonderfully, — just  by 
lightenhig  my  heart.  It  was  not  that  she  suggested  what 
to  do ;  but  she  made  me  feel  things  were  working  for 
good,  not  for  harm — that  God  in  some  way  ordered  them 
and  then  the  right  thoughts  seemed  to  come  to  me  natu 
rally. 

Our  mother,  I  am  afraid,  gi'ieves  as  much  as  she  did  foi 
Fritz ;  but  she  tries  to  hide  it,  lest  Ave  should  feel  her  un 
grateful  for  the  love  of  her  children. 

I  have  a  terrible  dread  sometimes  that  Aunt  Agnes  will 
get  her  prayers  answered  about  our  ])recious  mother  also, 
— if  not  in  one  way,  in  another.  She  looks  so  pale  and 
epiritless. 

June  20. 

C"^  IIRTSTOPIIER  has  just  returned  from  taking  Kva 
^  to  the  convent.  He  says  she  shed  many  tears  when 
lie  left  her  ;  which  is  a  comfort.  I  could  not  bear  to  think 
tliat  something  and  nothing  were  alike  to  her  yet.  IIo 
tohl  me  also  one  thing,  which  has  made  me  rather  anxious. 
On  the  journey,  Eva  begged  him  to  take  care  of  oui 
father's  sight,  which,  she  said,  she  thought  had  been  fail- 
ing £  little  lately.     And  just  before  they  separated  she 


i9< 


TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


brouglit  him  a  little  jar  of  distilled  'eye-water,  which  Lt 
nuns  were  skilful  in  making,  and  sent  it  to  our  father  wltfe 
Sister  Ave's  love. 

Certainly  my  father  has  read  less  lately ;  and  now  I 
think  of  it,  he  has  asked  me  once  or  twice  to  find  things 
for  him,  and  to  help  him  aboiit  his  models,  in  a  way  he 
never  used  to  do. 

It  is  strange  that  Eva,  with  those  deep,  earnest,  quiet 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  look  about  so  little,  always  saw 
before  any  of  us  what  every  one  wanted.  Darling  child ! 
she  will  remember  us,  then,  and  our  little  cares.  And  she 
will  have  some  eye-water  to  make,  which  will  be  much 
better  for  her  than  reading  all  day  in  that  melancholy 
"  Theologia  Teutsch.'* 

But  are  we  to  call  our  Eva,  Ave  ?  She  gp.ve  these  lines 
of  the  hymn  in  her  own  writing  to  Christ'^ipher,  to  briny 
to  me.  She  often  used  to  sing  it,  and  h»«  explained  tl  a 
words  to  me : — 

"  Ave,  maris  stella 
Dei  mater  alma 
Atque  semper  Tiirgo 
Felix  coeli  porta. 

"  Sumens  ilhid  Ave 
Gabrielis  ore 
Fumla  DOS  in  pace 
Mutatis  iiomen  Evce." 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  name,  I  know,  v^ith  nuns. 

Well,  dearly  as  I  loved  the  old  name,  I  cannot  complafj 
of  the  change.  Sister  Ave  will  be  as  dear  ti  me  as  Cous:j 
Eva,  only  a  little  bit  further  off,  and  nearer  Voaven. 

Her  living  so  near  heaven,  while  she  was  ttUJi  ua,  neve« 
seemed  to  make  her  further  off,  but  nearer  to  ns  all. 

Now,  however,  it  cannot,  of  course,  be  the  same. 

Our  grandmother  remains  steadfast  to  the  b'^ptismai 
name. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  193 

"  JJece  ving  that  Ave  from  the  hps  of  Gabriel,  the  blessed 
Mother  transformed  the  name  of  our  poor  motlier  Eva.'" 
And  now  our  child  Eva  is  on  her  way  to  become  Saint 
A.ve; — God's  i.ngel  Ave  in  heaven. 

June  30. 

1*^118  young  kmght  we  met  in  the  forest  has  called  at 
our  house  to-day. 

I  could  scarcely  con\mand  my  voice  at  first  to  tell  him 
wh..re  our  E\a  is,  because  I  cannot  help  partly  blaming 
him  for  her  leaving  us  at  last. 

"  At  Nimptsclien  !"  he  said  ;  "  then  she  was  noble,  after 
All.  None  but  maidens  of  noble  houses  are  admitted 
there." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  our  mother's  family  is  noble." 

"She  was  too  heavenly  for  this  world,"  he  murmured. 
"  Her  face,  and  something  in  her  words  and  tones,  have 
haunted  me  like  a  holy  vision,  or  a  church  hymn,  ever  since 
I  sav/  her." 

I  could  not  feel  as  inal^nant  with  the  young  knight  as 
Eva  did.  And  he  seemed  so  interested  in  our  father's 
models,  that  Ave  could  not  refuse  him  permission  to  come 
and  see  us  again. 

Yes,  our  Eva  was,  I  suppose,  as  he  says,  too  religious 
and  too  heavenly  for  this  world. 

Only,  as  so  many  of  us  have,  after  all,  to  live  in  the 
world,  unless  the  world  is  to  come  to  an  end  altogether, 
it  would  be  a  great  blessing  if  God  had  made  a  religion  for 
\u  poor,  secular  people,  as  well  as  one  for  the  monks  and 
Quns. 


X. 


FRITZ'S     STORY 


Rome,  AuGUSTmiAN  Convent', 
OLY  as  tliis  city  necessarily  must  be,  couse 
crated  by  relics  of  the  Church's  most  holj 
(lead,  consecrated  by  the  presence  of  her  livmg 
Head,  I  s^ad-cely  think  religion  is  as  deep  m  the 
hearts  of  these  Italians  as  of  our  poor  Germans  in  the  cold 
north. 

But  I  may  mistake ;  feeling  of  all  kinds  manifests  itself 
in  such  difterent  ways  with  diifereut  characters. 

Certainly  the  churches  are  thronged  on  all  great  occa- 
gions,  and  the  festas  are  brilliant.  But  the  people  seem 
rather  to  regard  them  as  holidays  and  dramatic  entertain- 
ments, than  as  the  solemn  and  sacred  festivals  we  consider 
tiiem  in  Saxony.  This  morning,  for  instance,  I  heai'd  two 
women  criticising  a  procession  in  words  such  as  these,  as 
far  as  the  little  Italian  I  have  picked  up  enabled  met  to 
understand  them: — 

"All,  Nina  mia,  the  angels  are  nothing  to-day;  you 
Bhould  have  seen  our  Lucia  last  year !  Every  one  said  she 
was  heavenly.  If  the  priests  do  not  arrange  it  better, 
people  will  scarcely  care  to  attend.  Besides,  the  music 
was  execrable." 

"  At ,  *,he  nuns  of  tlie  Cistercian  convent  understand  'uc\( 

(194) 


FMTZ'S  STORY. 


»95 


to  manage  a  ceroinony.  They  have  ideas.  Did  y">n  sco 
their  Bambino  last  Chvisimas  ?  Sncli  lace !  and  tlie  cradle 
of  tortoise-shell,  fit  f^ov  an  emperor,  as  it  should  be !  A  ad 
then  their  robes  for  the  Madonna  on  her  fetes !  Cloth  of 
gold  embroidered  with  pearls  and  brilliants  worth  » 
treasury !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  lo\^erii:g  her  voice,  "  1  hai  e 
been  told  the  history  of  those  robes.  A  certain  lady  who 
was  powerful  at  the  late  Holy  Father's  court,  is  said  to 
have  presented  the  dress  in  which  she  appeared  on  some 
Btate  occasion  to  the  nuns,  just  as  she  wore  it." 

"Did  she  become  a  penitent,  then  ?  '* 

"  A  penitent  ?  I  do  not  know  ;  such  an  act  of  penitence 
would  purchase  indulgences  and  masses  to  last  at  least  for 
some  time." 

Brother  Martin  and  I  do  not  so  much  affect  these  gor- 
geous processions.  These  Italians,  with  their  gloi'ious 
hkies  and  the  rich  colouring  of  their  beautiful  land,  require 
more  splendour  in  their  religion  than  our  German  eyes  can 
easily  gaze  on  undazzled. 

It  rather  perplexed  us  to  see  the  magnificent  caparisons 
of  the  horses  of  the  cardinals ;  and  more  especially  to  be- 
hold the  Holy  Father  sitting  on  a  fair  palfrey,  bearing  the 
«acred  Host.  In  Germany,  the  loftiest  earthly  dignity 
prostrates  it-self  low  before  that  Ineffable  Presence. 

15ut  my  mind  becomes  confused.  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
ehould  call  the  Vicar  of  Christ  an  earthly  dignitary !  Is 
he  not  the  representative  and  oracle  of  God  on  earth? 

For  this  reason — no  doubt  in  painful  contradiction  to 
the  reverent  awe  natural  to  every  Christian  before  the 
Holy  Sacrament, — the  Holy  Father  submits  to  sitting  on- 
throned  in  the  church,  and  receiving  the  body  of  our 
Creator  through  a  goiden  tube  presented  to  him  by  a 
kneeling  cardinal, 

It  roust  be  very  difficult  for  him  to  separate  between 


190  THE  SVnO^BEHtJ-tOTTA  FAMILY. 

the  office  and  the  person.  It  is  difficult  enough  for  us 
But  for  the  human  spirit  not  yet  made  perfect  to  receiva 
thase  religious  lionours  must  be  overwliehning. 

Doubtless,  at  night,  when  the  Holy  Father  liurahles 
himself  in  solitude  before  God,  his  self-abasement  is  as 
much  deeper  than  that  of  ordinary  Christians  as  his  exalt 
ation  is  greater. 

I  must  confess  that  it  is  an  inexpressible  relief  to  me  to 
retire  to  the  solitude  of  my  cell  at  night,  and  pray  to  Him 
of  whom  Brother  Martin  and  I  spoke  in  the  Black  Forest; 
to  whom  the  homage  of  the  universe  is  no  burden,  because 
it  is  not  mere  prostration  before  an  office,  but  adoration 
of  a  Person.  "Holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  God  Almighty 
heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  thy  glory." 

Holiness — to  which  almightiness  is  but  an  attribute, — 
Holy  One,  M'ho  hast  loved  and  given  thine  Holy  One  for  a 
Binfiil  world,  miserere  nobis. 

Rome,  July^ 

WE  have  diligently  visited  all  the  holy  relics,  and 
offered  prayers  at  every  altar  at  which  especial 
indulgences  are  procured,  for  ourselves  and  others. 

Brother  Martin  once  said  he  could  almost  wish  his  father 
and  mother  (whom  he  dearly  loves)  were  dead,  that  he 
might  avail  himself  of  the  privileges  of  this  holy  city  to 
deliver  their  souls  from  purgatory. 

He  says  masses  whenever  he  can.  But  the  Italian 
priests  are  often  impatient  with  him  because  he  recites  the 
office  so  slowly.  I  heard  one  of  them  say,  contemptuously, 
he  had  accomplished  thirty  masses  while  Brother  Martin 
only  finished  one.  And  more  than  once  they  hurry  him 
forward,  saying  "Passa!  passa!" 

Thei-e  is  a  strange  disappointment  in  these  ceremonies 
to  me,  and,  I  tli  ink.  often  to  him.  I  seem  to  expect  so 
much  more, — not  more  pomp,  of  that  there  is  abundance 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  lyj 

but  when  the  ceremony  begins,  to  which  all  the  p^nip  of 
music,  and  processions  of  cavaliers,  and  richly-robed 
priests,  and  costly  shrines,  are  mere  2:)i'eliminary  accessaries, 
it  seems  often  so  poor.  The  kernel  inside  all  this  gorgeous 
si  .ell  seems  to  the  eye  of  sense  like  a  little  poor  withered 
dust. 

To  the  eye  of  sense !  Yes,  I  forget.  These  are  the 
splendours  oi  faith.,  which  faith  only  can  uphold. 

To-day  we  gazed  on  the  Veronica, — the  holy  impression 
left  by  our  Saviour's  face  on  the  cloth  St,  Veronica  pre- 
sented to  him  to  wipe  liis  brow,  bowed  under  the  weight 
of  the  ci'oss.  We  had  looked  forward  to  this  sight  for 
days,  for  seven  thousand  years  of  indulgence  from  penance 
are  attached  to  it. 

But  when  the  moment  came,  Brother  Martin  and  I  could 
see  nothing  but  a  black  board  hung  with  a  cloth,  before 
which  another  white  cloth  was  held.  In  a  few  minutes 
this  was  withdrawn,  and  the  great  moment  was  over,  tlte 
glimpse  of  the  sacred  thing  on  wliich  hung  the  fate  of 
seven  thousand  years.  For  some  time  Brother  Martin  and 
I  did  not  speak  of  it.  1  feared  there  had  been  some  im- 
perfection in  my  looking,  which  might  atfect  the  seven 
thousand  years ;  but  observing  his  countenance  rather 
downcast,  1  told  him  my  difficulty,  and  found  that  he  also 
!i  id  seen  nothing  but  a  white  cloth. 

The  skulls  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  perplexed  us  still 
more,  because  they  had  so  much  the  appearance  of  being 
carved  in  wood.  But  in  the  crowd  we  could  not  approach 
very  close;  and  doubtless  Satan  uses  devites  to  blind  tho 
eyes  even  of  the  faithful. 

One  relic  excited  my  amazement  much — the  haiter  witli 
which  Judas  hairged  himself!     It  could  scarcely  be  termed 
a  holy  relic.     I  wonder  who  preserved  it,  when  so  manj 
other  precious  things   art;   lost.     Scarcely  tho   apost.es 
porhaps  the  scribes,  out  of  malice. 


198  THE  SOHONBEHQ-COTIA  FAMILY. 

The  Romans,  I  observe,  seem  to  care  little  for  what  to 
us  is  the  kernel  and  marrow  of  these  ceremonies — the  ex- 
hiljiliou  of  the  holy  relics.  They  seem  more  occupied  in 
comparing  the  pomp  of  one  year,  or  of  one  church,  with 
another. 

We  must  not,  I  suppose,  measure  the  good,  things  do  ua 
by  our  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  but  simply  accept  it  on 
the  testimony  of  the  Church. 

Otherwise  I  might  be  tempted  to  imagine  t'nat  the  relics 
of  pagan  Rome  do  my  spirit  more  good  than  gazing  on 
the  sacred  ashes  or  bones  of  martyrs  or  apostles.  When 
I  walk  over  the  heaps  of  shapeless  ruin,  so  many  feet  be- 
neath which  lies  buried  the  grandeur  of  the  old  imperial 
city ;  or  when  I  w^ander  among  the  broken  arches  of  the 
gigantic  Colosseum,  where  the  martyrs  fought  with  wild 
oeasts, — great  thoughts  seem  to  grow  naturally  in  my 
mind,  and  I  feel  how  great  truth  is,  and  how  little  empires 
are. 

I  see  an  empire  solid  as  this  Colosseum  crumble  into 
ruins  as  undistinguishable  as  the  dust  of  those  streets,  be- 
fore the  word  of  that  once  despised  Jew  of  Tarsus,  "  in 
bodily  presence  weak,"  who  was  beheaded  here.  Or, 
again,  in  the  ancient  Pantheon,  Avhen  the  music  of  Chris- 
tian chants  rises  among  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  old  van- 
quished gods  painted  on  the  walls,  and  the  light  streams 
down,  not  from  painted  windows  in  the  walls,  but  from 
the  glowing  heavens  above,  evei-y  note  of  the  service 
echoes  like  a  peal  of  trumph,  and  fills  my  heart  with 
tliankfulne^s. 

But  my  happiest  hours  here  are  spent  in  the  church  oi 
my  patron ,  St.  Sebastian,  without  the  waLs,  \i  uilt  over  the 
ancient  catacombs. 

Countless  martyrs,  they  say,  lest  m  peace  in  these  an- 
eient  sepulchres.    They  have  not  been  opened  for  centuries 
but  they  arc  believed  to  wind  in  subterranean  passages  fp 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  .qi^ 

beneath  cae  ancient  city.  In  those  dark  deptl'.s  the  ancient 
Chxarcl  took  reinge  from  persecution ;  there  she  laid  her 
martyrs ;  and  there,  over  tlieir  tomhs,  she  chanted  hymns 
of  triumph,  and  hekl  communion  with  Ilim  for  whom  they 
iied,  In  that  church  I  spend  hours.  I  have  no  wish  to 
lescond  into  those  sacred  sepulclires,  and  pry  among  the 
jn  aves  tiifc  resurrection  trump  will  open  soon  enough.  \ 
.ike  to  think  of  the  holy  dead,  lying  undisturbed  and  .piet 
there ;  of  th^ir  spirits  in  paradise ;  of  their  faith  triumph- 
ant in  the  city  which  massacred  them. 

Xo  doubt  they  also  had  their  perplexities,  and  wondered 
wl\y  the  A^^icked  triumph,  and  sighed  to  God,  "  How  long, 
O  Lord,  bow  long  ?  " 

And  yet  I  cannot  ]\elp  wishing  I  had  lived  and  died 
aniong  them,  and  had  not  been  born  in  times  when  w^e  see 
Satan  s-ppear,  not  in  his.  genuine  hideousness,  but  as  an 
angel  of  light. 

Forof  the  wickedness  that  prevails  in  this  Christian  Rome, 
alas,  who  can  speak!  of  the  shameloss  sin,  the  violence, 
the  pride,  the  mockery  of  sacred  things. 

In  the  Colosseum,  in  the  Pantheon,  ii.  the  Church  of  St, 
Sebastian,  1  feel  an  atom — but  an  atom  in  a  solid,  God- 
governed  world,  where  truth  is  mightiest; — insignificant 
in  myself  as  the  little  mosses  which  flutter  on  these  ancient 
stones  ;  but  yet  a  little  moss  on  a  gr^at  rock  which  cannot 
be  shaken — the  rock  of  God's  providence  and  love.  In  tho 
busy  city,  [  feel  tossed  hither  and  thither  on  a  sea  which 
seems  to  rage  and  heave  at  its  own  wild  will,  without  aim 
or  meaning — a  sea  of  human  passion.  Among  the  ruins,  1 
comn\une  with  the  spirits  of  our  great  and  holy  dead,  who 
live  imto  God.  At  the  exhibition  of  the  sacred  relics,  n:y 
heart  is  diawn  down  to  the  mere  perishable  dust,  decor- 
ated with  the  miserable  pomps  of  the  little  men  of  the 
day. 

And  then  I  return  to  the  convent  r.id  reproach  myself 


^oo  THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMIL7 

for  censorionsiiesR,  and  unbelief,  and  pride,  and  try  to  re 
member  tliat  the  benefits  of  these  ceremonies  and  exhibi- 
tions are  only  to  be  understood  by  faith,  and  are  not  to  bo 
judged  Xr.  inward  feeling,  or  even  by  their  moral  results. 

The  Church,  the  Holy  Father,  solemnly  declare,  that 
pardons  and  blessings  incalculable,  to  ourselves  and  others, 
iow  from  so  many  Paternosters  and  Aves  recited  at  cer- 
tain altars,  or  from  seeing  the  Veronica  or  the  other  relics. 
I  have  performed  the  acts,  and  I  must  at  my  peril  believe 
m  the  efficacy. 

But  Brother  Martin  and  I  are  often  sorely  discouraged 
at  the  wickedness  w^e  see  and  hear  around  us.  A  few  days 
since  he  was  at  a  feast  with  several  prelates  and  great  men 
of  the  Church,  and  the  fashion  among  them  seemed  to  be 
to  jest  at  all  that  is  most  sacred.  Some  avowed  their  dis- 
belief in  one  portion  of  the  faith,  and  some  in  others;  but 
all  in  a  light  and  laughing  way,  as  if  it  mattered  little  to 
any  of  them.  One  present  related  how  they  sometimes 
substituted  the  words  panis  es,  et  panis  manehis  in  the  mass, 
instead  of  the  words  of  consecration,  and  then  amused 
themselves  with  watching  the  people  adore  what  was,  after 
all,  no  consecrated  Host,  but  a  mere  piece  of  bread. 

The  Romans  themselves  we  have  heard  declare,  that 
if  there  be  a  hell,  Rome  is  built  over  it.  They  have  a 
couplet, — 

"  Vivere  qui  sancte  vultis,  discedite  Roma: 
Omnia  hie  esse  licent,  non  licet  esse  probum."* 

O  Rome !  in  sacredness  as  Jerusalem,  in  wickedness  as 
Babylon,  how  bitter  is  the  conflict  that  breaks  forth  in  the 
heart  at  seeing  holy  places  and  holy  character  thus  dis- 
joined !  How  overwhelming  the  doubts  that  rush  back 
on  the  spirit  again  and  again,  as  to  the  very  existence  of 

*  ["  Ye  who  would  live  holily,  depart  from  Kome:  all  things  are  allowed 
»tro,  except  to  ba  uiJiij^ht "J 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  20J 

bi^liisess  or  truth  ir  the  universe,  when  we  behold  tho  deeds 
of  Satan  prcvailiug  in  the  very  metropolis  ol  the  kingdom 
of  God! 

Rome,  August. 

MECHANICALLY,  we  continue  to  go  through  every 
detail  of  the  prescribed  round  of  devotions,  believ- 
ing against  experience,  and  hoping  against  hope. 

To-day  Brother  IMartin  Avent  to  accomplish  the  ascent 
of  the  Santa  Scala — the  Holy  Staircase — which  once,  they 
say,  formed  part  of  Pilate's  house.  I  had  crept  up  the 
sacred  steps  before,  and  stood  watching  him  as,  on  his 
knees,  he  slowly  mounted  step  after  step  of  the  hard  stone, 
worn  into  hollows  by  the  knees  of  penitents  and  pilgrims. 
An  indulgence  for  a  thousand  years — indulgence  from  pen- 
ance— is  attached  to  this  act  of  devotion.  Patiently  he 
crept  half  way  up  the  staircase,  when,  to  my  amazement, 
he  suddenly  stood  erect,  lifted  his  face  heavenward,  and, 
in  another  moment,  turned  and  walked  slowly  down 
again. 

He  seemed  absorbed  in  thought  when  he  rejoined  me ; 
and  it  was  not  until  some  time  afterwards  that  he  told  me 
the  meaning  of  this  sudden  abandonment  of  his  purpose. 

He  stated  that,  as  he  Avas  toiling  up,  a  voice,  as  if  from 
heaven,  seemed  to  Avhisper  to  him  the  old,  well-known 
words,  Avhich  had  been  his  battle-cry  in  so  many  a  victori 
ous  combat, — "  The  just  shall  live  by  faith.'''' 

He  seemed  aAvakened,  as  if  from  a  nightmare,  and  re- 
stored to  himself  He  dared  not  creep  up  another  step ; 
but,  rising  from  his  knees,  he  stood  upright,  like  a  man 
suddenly  loosed  from  bonds  and  fetters,  and,  Avith  the  firm 
Btep  of  a  freeman,  he  descended  the  Staircase  and  walked 
from  the  place. 


ids  THE  SCnONBKRG  COTTA  FAMILY. 

Allf/anC,  1511 

TO  NIGHT  tliere  has  been  an  assassination.  A  ooi'ps* 
was  found  near  our  convent  gates,  pierced  with 
many  wounds.  But  no  one  seems  to  think  much  of  it, 
Bucli  things  are  constantly  occurring,  they  Bay ;  and  the 
only  interest  seems  to  be  as  to  the  nature  of  the  quarrel 
which  led  to  it. 

"  A  prelate  is  mixed  up  with  it,"  the  monks  whisper , 
"  one  of  the  late  Pope's  family.  It  will  not  be  investi- 
gated." 

But  these  crimes  of  passion  seem  to  me  comprehensible 
and  excusable,  compared  with  the  spirit  of  levity  and 
}nockery  A\hicli  pervades  all  classes.  In  such  acts  of  re- 
venge you  see  human  nature  in  ruins  ;  yet  in  the  ruins  you 
can  trace  something  of  the  ancient  dignity.  But  in  this 
jesting,  scornful  spirit,  which  mocks  at  sacredness  ir  the 
service  of  God,  at  virtue  in  women,  and  at  truth  and  honor 
in  men,  all  traces  of  God's  image  seem  crushed  and  trod- 
den into  shapeless,  incoherent  dust. 

From  such  thoughts  I  often  take  refuge  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  and  feel  a  refreehment  in  its  desolate  spaces,  its 
solitary  wastes,  its  traces  of  material  ruin. 

The  ruins  of  empires  and  of  imperial  edifices  do  not  de- 
press me.  The  immortality  of  the  race  and  of  the  soul 
rises  grandly  in  contrast.  In  the  Campagna  we  see  the 
ruins  of  imperial  Rome ;  but  in  Rome  we  see  the  ruin  of 
our  race  and  nature.  And  what  shall  console  us  for  that, 
when  the  presence  of  all  that  Christians  most  venerate  ia 
powerless  to  arrest  it  ? 

"Were  it  not  for  some  memories  of  a  home  at  Eisenach, 
on  which  I  dare  not  dwell  too  much,  it  seems  at  times  as 
if  the  Aery  thought  of  purity  and  truth  would  fade  from 
my  heart, 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


20) 


Home,  August. 

BRCJTHER  MARTIN,  during  the  intervals  of  the 
business  o/  his  Order,  which  is  slowly  winding  its 
vray  among  the  intricacies  of  the  Roman  courts,  is  turning 
bis  attention  to  the  study  of  Hebrew,  under  the  Rabbi 
Elias  Levita. 

I  study  also  with  the  Rabbi,  and  have  had  the  great 
benefit,  moreover,  of  hearing  lectures  from  the  Byzantine 
Greek  professor,  Argyropylos. 

Two  altogether  new  worlds  seem  to  open  to  mo  throixgh 
these  men,  —one  in  the  far  distances  of  time,  and  the  other 
of  space. 

The  Rabbi,  one  of  the  race  which  is  a  by-word  and  a 
scorn  among  us  from  boyhood,  to  my  surprise  seems  to 
glory  in  his  nation  and  his  pedigree,  with  a  pride  which 
looks  down  on  the  antiquity  of  our  noblest  Uneages  as 
mushrooms  of  a  day.  I  had  no  conception  that  underneath 
the  misery  and  the  obsequious  demeanour  of  the  Jews  such 
lofty  feelings  existed.  And  yet,  what  wonder  is  it  ?  Be- 
fore Rome  was  built,  Jerusalem  was  a  sacred  and  royal 
city ;  and  now  that  the  empire  and  the  people  of  Rome 
have  passed  for  centuries,  this  nation,  fallen  before  their 
prime,  still  exists  to  witness  their  fall. 

I  went  once  to  the  door  of  their  synagogue,  in  the 
Ghetto.  There  were  no  shrines  in  it,  no  altars,  no  visible 
gymbols  of  sacred  things,  except  the  roll  of  the  Law,  which 
was  reverently  taken  out  of  a  secret  treasury  and  read 
oJoud.  Yet  there  seemed  something  sublime  in  this  sym- 
bolizing of  the  presence  of  God  only  by  a  voice  reading  the 
words  which,  ages  ago,  he  spoke  to  their  prophets  in  the 
Holy  Land. 

"  Why  have  you  no  altar  ?"  I  asked  once  of  one  of  the 
Rabbis. 

"  Our  altar  can  only  je  raised  where  our  temple  is  built," 
«'as  the  reply.     "  Our  temple  can  only  rise  in  the  city  and 


*04  TUB  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

on  the  hill  of  our  God.  But,"  he  continued,  in  a  low,  h\^ 
ter  tone,  "  wlien  our  altar  and  temple  are  restored,  it  will 
not  be  to  ofier  incense  to  the  painted  image  of  a  Hebrew 
maiden." 

I  have  thought  of  the  words  often  since.  But  were  they 
iot  blasphemy  ?     I  must  not  dare  recall  them. 

But  those  Greeks !  they  are  Christians,  and  yet  not  of 
our  communion.  As  Argyropylos  speaks,  I  understand 
for  the  first  time  that  a  Church  exists  in  the  East,  aa 
ancient  as  the  Church  of  Western  Europe,  and  as  exten- 
sive, which  acknoAvledges  the  Holy  Trinity  and  the  Creeds 
but  owns  no  allegiance  to  the  Holy  Father  the  Pope. 

The  world  is  much  larger  and  older  than  Else  or  i 
thought  at  Eisenach.  May  not  God's  kingdom  be  much 
larger  than  some  tliink  at  Rome  ? 

In  the  presence  of  monuments  which  date  back  to  days 
before  Christianity,  and  of  men  who  speak  the  language  oi 
Moses,  and,  with  slight  variations,  the  language  of  Homer, 
our  Germany  seems  in  its  infancy  indeed.  Would  to  God 
it  were  in  its  infancy,  and  that  a  glorious  youth  and  pi-ime 
may  succeed,  when  these  old,  decrepit  nations  are  woj'u 
out  and  gone  ! 

Yet  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  call  Rome  decrepit — ■ 
Rome,  on  whose  brow  rests,  not  the  perishable  crown  of 
earthly  dominion,  but  the  tiara  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

Septenibcr. 

THE  mission  which  brought  Brother  Martin  hither  13 
nearly  accomplished.  We  shall  soon — we  may  at  a 
day's  notice — leave  Rome  and  return  to  Germany. 
And  what  have  we  gained  by  our  pilgrimage  ? 
A  store  of  ii  dulgences  beyond  calculation.  And  know- 
ledge; eyes  opened  to  see  good  and  evil.  Ennobling 
knowledge !  glimpses  into  rich  worlds  of  liuman  life  and 
thought,  which  humble  the  he^rt  a  expanding  the  mind. 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  ao; 

liitter  knowledge !  illusions  dispelled,  aspirations  crushel 
Wc  Ldve  learned  that  the  heart  of  Christendom  is  a  mora! 
plague-spot ;  that  spiritual  privileges  and  moral  goodness 
have  no  kind  of  connection,  because  where  the  former  ai-e 
at  the  highest  perfection,  the  latter  is  at  the  lowest  point 
of  degradation. 

We  have  learned  that  on  earth  there  is  no  place  to 
which  the  heart  can  turn  as  a  sanctuary,  if  by  a  sanctuary 
we  mean  not  merely  a  refuge  from  the  punishment  of  sin, 
but  a  place  in  which  to  grow  holy. 

In  one  sense,  Home  may,  indeed,  be  called  the  sanctuary 
of  the  world.  It  seems  as  if  half  the  criminals  in  the  world 
bad  found  a  refuge  here. 

When  I  think  of  Rome  in  future  as  a  city  of  the  living, 
I  shall  think  of  assassination,  treacliery,  avarice,  a  spirit  of 
universal  mockery,  which  seems  only  the  foam  over  an 
abyss  of  universal  despair ;  mockery  of  all  virtue,  based  on 
disbelief  in  all  truth. 

It  is  only  as  a  city  of  the  dead  that  my  heart  will  revert 
to  Rome  as  a  holy  place.  She  has  indeed  built,  and  built 
beautifully,  the  sepulchres  of  the  prophets. 

Those  hidden  catacombs,  where  the  holy  dead  rest,  far 
under  the  streets  of  the  city, — too  far  for  trafficker^  in 
Bacred  bones  to  disturb  them, — among  these  the  imagina- 
tion can  rest,  like  these  beatified  ones,  in  peace. 

The  spiritual  life  of  Rome  seems  to  be  among  her  dead. 
Among  the  living  all  seems  spiritual  corruption  and  death 

May  God  and  the  saints  have  mercy  on  me  if  I  say  whai 
IB  sinful.  Does  not  the  scum  necessarily  rise  to  the  sur 
face?  Do  not  acts  of  violence  and  words  of  mockery 
ne«.essarily  make  more  noise  in  the  av  orld  than  prayers  ? 
Mow  do  I  know  how  many  humble  hearts  there  are  io 
thc^e  countless  convents  there,  that  secretly  offer  accept- 
able incense  vo  God,  and  keep  the  perpet'ial  lamp  of  4ev'» 
tion  bui-ning  in  the  sight  of  God  ? 


«c/j  TUB  SCHONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

How  do  I  know  Avliat  deeper  and  better  thoughts  Ii« 
'liddon  under  tliat  veil  of  levity  ?  Only  I  often  feel  that  if 
God  had  not  made  me  a  believer  through  his  word,  by  the 
voice  of  Brother  Martin  in  the  Black  Forest,  Rome  miglit 
too  easily  have  made  me  an  infidel.  And  it  is  certainly 
ti  uc,  that  to  be  a  Christian  at  Rome  as  well  as  elsewhere, 
more  than  elsewhei-e  one  must  breast  the  tide,  and  must 
walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight. 

But  we  have  performed  the  pilgrimage.  We  have  con- 
scientiously visited  all  the  shrines ;  we  have  recited  as 
many  as  possible  of  the  privileged  acts  of  devotion,  Paterg 
and  Aves,  at  the  privileged  shrines. 

Great  benefits  must  result  to  us  from  these  things. 

But  benefits  of  what  kind  ?  Moral  ?  How  can  that  be  .' 
When  shall  I  efiace  from  my  memory  the  polluting  words 
and  works  I  have  seen  and  heard  at  Rome  ?  Spiritual  ? 
Scarcely ;  if  by  spiritual  we  are  to  understand  a  devout 
mind,  joy  in  God,  ajid  nearness  to  him.  When,  since  that 
night  in  the  Black  Forest,  ha-\'e  I  found  prayer  so  difticult, 
doubts  so  overwhelming,  the  thought  of  God  and  heaven 
so  dim,  as  at  Rome  ? 

The  benefits,  then,  that  we  have  received,  must  be 
ecclesiastical, — those  that  the  church  promises  and  dis- 
penses. And  what  are  these  ecclesiastical  benefits  ?  Par- 
don ?  But  is  it  not  written  that  God  gives  this  freely  to 
those  who  believe  on  his  Son  ?  Peace  ?  But  is  not  that 
the  legacy  of  the  Saviour  to  all  who  love  hira  ? 

What  then  ?  Indulgences  Indulgences  from  what  ? 
b'rom  the  temporal  consequences  of  sin?  Too  obviously 
not  tnese.  Do  the  ecclesiastical  indulgences  save  men 
from  disease,  and  sorrow,  und  death  ?  Is  it,  then,  from 
the  etornal  consequences  of  sin  ?  Did  not  the  Lamb  of 
God,  dying  for  us  on  the  cross,  bear  our  sins  there,  and 
blot  them  out  ?  What  then  remains,  which  the  indulgences 
can  deliver  from  ?     Fenai\ce  and  purgatory.     What  then 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  207 

aie  penaiice  and  purgatory  ?  Has  penance  ni  itseli  no 
curative  eifect,  that  we  can  be  healed  of  our  sins  by  escap- 
ing as  well  as  by  performing  it  ?  Have  purgatorial  fires 
no  purifying  power,  that  we  can  be  purified  as  much  by  re- 
peating a  few  words  of  devotion  at  certain  altars  as  by 
centuries  of  agony  in  the  flames  ? 

All  these  questions  rise  beibre  me  from  time  to  time, 
and  I  find  no  reply.  If  I  mention  them  to  my  confessor, 
he  says : — 

"  These  are  temptations  of  the  devil.  You  must  not 
listen  to  them.  They  are  vain  and  presumptuous  questions 
There  are  no  keys  on  earth  to  open  these  doors." 

Are  there  any  keys  on  earth  to  lock  them  again,  when 
once  they  have  been  opened  ? 

"You  Germans,"  others  of  the  Italian  priests  say,  "take 
everything  with  such  desperate  seriousness.  It  is  prob- 
ably owing  to  your  long  winters  and  the  heaviness  of  your 
northern  climate,  which  must,  no  doubt,  be  very  depress- 
ing to  the  spirits." 

Holy  Mary !  and  these  Italians,  if  life  is  so  light  a  mat- 
ter to  them,  will  not  they  also  have  one  day  to  take  death 
"  with  desperate  seriousness,"  and  judgment  and  eternity, 
although  there  will  be  no  long  winters,  I  suppose,  and  no 
north  and  south,  to  depress  the  spirits  in  that  other 
world  ? 

We  are  going  back  to  Germany  at  last.  Strangely  haa 
the  world  enlarged  to  me  since  we  came  here.  We  are 
accredited  pilgrims  ;  we  have  performed  every  prescribed 
duty,  and  availed  ourselves  of  every  proffered  privilege. 
And  yet  it  is  not  because  of  the  regret  of  quitting  the  Holy 
City  that  our  hearts  are  full  of  the  gravest  melancholy  aa 
we  turn  away  from  Rome. 

When  I  compare  the  recollections  C'f  this  Rome  with 
those  of  a  home  at  Eisenach,  I  an\  tempted  in  my  heart,  tc 
(feel  as  'f  Germany,  and  not  Rome,  were  /.he  Holy  Place, 


loC  THE  SCHOMBEMO-COTTA  FAMlLT. 

»nd  our  j)ilgriuaage  were  beginning  instead  of  ending,  aa 
we  turn  our  faces  northward. 

EVA'S   STORY. 
CisTEKCiAN  Content,  NiMPTScaEN,  1511. 

IIFE  cannot  at  the  utmost  last  very  long,  although  at 
^  seventeen  we  may  be  tempted  to  think  the  way  be- 
tweea  us  and  heaven  interminable. 

For  the  convent  is  certainly  not  heaven ;  I  never  ex- 
pected it  would  be.  It  is  not  nearly  so  much  like  heaven, 
]  think,  as  Aunt  Cotta's  home  ;  because  love  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  essential  joy  of  heaven,  and  there  is  more  love  in 
that  home  than  here. 

I  am  not  at  all  disappointed.  I  did  not  expect  a  haven 
of  rest,  but  only  a  sphere  where  I  might  serve  God  better, 
and,  at  all  events,  not  be  a  burden  on  dear  Aunl  Cotta. 
For  I  feel  sure  Uncle  Cotta  will  become  blind  ;  and  they 
have  so  much  difficulty  to  struggle  on  as  it  is. 

And  the  world  is  full  of  dangers  for  a  young  orphan  girl 
like  me ;  and  I  am  afraid  they  might  want  me  to  marry 
some  one,  which  I  never  could. 

I  have  no  doubt  God  will  give  me  some  work  to  do  for 
him  here,  and  that  is  all  the  happiness  I  look  for.  Not 
that  I  think  there  are  not  other  kinds  of  happiness  in  the 
woi'ld  which  are  not  wrong ;  but  they  are  not  for  me. 

I  shall  never  think  it  was  wrong  to  love  them  all  at 
Eisenach  as  much  as  I  did,  and  do,  whatever  the  confessor 
may  say.  I  shall  be' better  all  my  life,  and  all  the  life  be- 
yond, I  believe,  for  the  love  God  gave  them  for  me,  and 
me  for  them,  and  for  having  known  Cousin  Fritz.  I  wish 
very  much  he  would  write  to  me ;  and  sometimes  I  thinl< 
I  will  write  to  him.  I  feel  sure  it  would  do  us  both  good. 
He  always  said  it  did  him  good  to  talk  and  read  the  doai" 
eld  Latin  hymns  with  me ;  and  I  know  they  never  seemed 
more  veal  and  true  than  when  T  sang  them  to  hun,     But 


EVA  S  8T0RT.  209 

the  father  coniessor  says  it  would  be  exceedingly  i)erilou9 
for  our  souls  to  hold  such  a  correspondence  \  and  he  asked 
nie  if  I  did  not  think  more  of  my  cousin  than  of  the  nymns 
when  I  sang  them  to  him,  which,  he  says,  would  have  been 
a  great  sin.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell  exactly  how  the 
thoughts  were  balanced,  or  from  what  source  each  drop 
of  pleasure  flowed.  It  was  all  blended  together.  It  waa 
joy  to  sing  the  hymns,  and  it  was  joy  for  Fritz  to  like  to 
hear  them  ;  and  where  one  joy  overflowed  into  the  other 
I  cannot  tell.  I  believe  God  gave  me  both ;  and  I  do  not 
see  that  I  need  care  to  divide  one  from  the  other.  Who 
cares,  when  the  Elbe  is  flowing  past  its  willoAVS  and  oaks 
at  Wittenberg,  which  part  of  its  waters  was  dissolved  by 
the  sun  from  the  pui-e  snows  on  the  mountains,  and  which 
came  trickling  from  some  little  humble  spring  on  the  sandy 
plains  ?  Both  springs  and  snows  came  originally  from  the 
clouds  above ;  and  both,  as  they  flow  blended  on  together, 
make  the  grass  spring  and  the  leaf-buds  swell,  and  all  the 
world  rejoice. 

The  heart  with  which  we  love  each  other  and  with 
which  we  love  God,  is  it  not  the  same  ?  only  God  is  all 
good,  and  we  are  all  his,  therefore  we  should  love  him 
best.  I  think  I  do,  or  I  should  be  more  desolate  here 
than  I  am,  aAvay  from  all  but  him. 

Tliat  is  what  I  understand  by  my  "  Theologia  Gerraan- 
.ca,'"  which  Else  does  not  like.  I  begin  with  my  father's 
legacy — "  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  Son  ; " 
and  then  I  think  of  the  crucifix,  and  of  the  love  of  llim 
who  died  for  us ;  and,  in  the  light  of  these,  I  love  to  read 
in  ray  book  of  Him  who  is  the  Supreme  Goodness,  whose 
will  is  our  re.st,  and  who  is  himself  the  joy  of  all  our  joys, 
and  our  joy  when  w€  have  no  other  joy.  The  f^hings  I  do 
not  comprehend  in  the  book,  I  leave,  Hke  so  many  other 
things.  I  am  but  a  poor  girl  of  seventeen,  and  how  can  I 
evpect  to  understand   everything  :'      Only  I  never  let  the 


«.o  THE  SCIIONBERO-UOTTA  FAMILY. 

thiTigs  I  do  not  understand  perplex  me  aboiit  those 
I  do. 

Therefore,  when  my  confessor  told  me  to  examine  my 
heart,  and  see  if  there  were  not  wrong  and  idolatrous 
thoughts  mixed  up  with  my  love  for  them  all  at  Eisenach, 
I  said  at  once,  looking  up  at  him — 

"  Yos,  father.  I  did  not  love  them  half  enough,  for  aU 
their  love  to  me." 

I  think  he  rjust  have  been  satisfied ;  for  although  he 
looked  perplexed,  he  did  not  ask  me  any  more  questions. 

I  feel  very  sorry  for  many  of  the  nuns,  especially  for  the 
old  nuns.  They  seem  to  me  like  children,  and  yet  not 
child-like.  The  merest  trifles  appear  to  excite  or  trouble 
them.  They  speak  of  the  convent  as  if  it  were  the  world, 
and  of  the  world  as  if  it  were  hell.  It  is  a  childhood  with 
no  hope,  no  youth  and  Avomanhood  before  it.  It  reminds 
me  of  the  stunted  oaks  we  passed  on  Diiben  Heath,  be- 
tween "Wittenberg  and  Leipsic,  which  will  never  be  full- 
grown,  and  yet  are  not  saplings. 

Then  there  is  one.  Sister  Beatrice,  whom  the  nuns  seem 
to  think  very  inferior  to  themselves,  because  they  say  she 
was  forced  into  the  convent  by  her  relatives,  to  prevent 
her  marrying  some  one  they  did  not  like,  and  could  never 
be  induced  to  take  the  vows  until  her  lover  died, — which, 
they  say,  is  hardly  worthy  of  tho  name  of  a  vocation  at 

All. 

She  does  not  seem  to  think  so  either,  but  moves  about 
in  a  subdued,  broken-spirited  way,  as  if  she  felt  herself  a 
ci'cature  belonging  neither  t*  the  Church  nor  to  the  world. 

The  oilier  -evening  she  had  been  on  an  errand  for  tlie 
prioress  through  the  snow,  and  returned  blue  with  cold. 
She  had  made  some  mistake  in  the  message,  and  was 
ordered  at  once,  with  contemptuous  words,  to  her  cell,  to 
finish  a  penance  by  reciting  certain  prayers. 

I  could  not  heli^  following  her.     When  I  found  her  "I'l 


EVA'S  STOSr.  a  I 

was  sitting  on  her  pallet  shivering,  -vv^ith  the  prayer-hook 
before  lier.  I  crept  into  the  cell,  and,  sitting  down  beside 
her,  began  to  chafe  her  poor  icy  hands. 

At  first  she  tried  to  withdraw  them,  raiirmuring  that  she 
had  a  penance  to  perform ;  and  then  her  eyes  wandered 
from  the  book  to  mine.  She  gazed  wonderingly  at  me  for 
some  moments,  and  then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  said,  — 

"  Oh,  do  not  do  that !  It  makes  me  think  of  the  nursery 
at  home.  And  my  mother  is  dead  ;  all  are  dead,  and  I  can- 
not  die." 

She  let  me  put  my  arms  round  her,  however ;  and,  in 
faint,  broken  words,  the  whole  history  came  out. 

"  I  am  not  here  from  choice,"  she  said.  "  I  should  never 
have  been  here  if  my  mother  had  not  died  ;  and  I  should 
never  have  taken  the  vows  if  he  had  not  died,  whatever 
tliey  had  done  to  me;  for  we  were  betrothed,  and  we  had 
vowed  before  God  we  would  be  true  to  each  other  till 
death.  And  why  is  not  one  vow  as  good  as  another? 
When  they  told  me  he  was  dead,  I  took  the  vows — or,  at 
least,  I  let  them  put  the  veil  on  me,  and  said  the  words  as 
I  was  told,  after  the  priest ;  for  I  did  not  care  what  I  did. 
And  so  I  am  a  nun.  I  have  no  wish  now  to  be  anything  else. 
But  it  will  do  me  no  good  to  be  a  nun,  for  I  loved  Ebei- 
liard  firstj  and  I  loved  him  best ;  .and  now  that  he  is  dead^ 
I  love  no  one,  and  have  no  hope  in  heaven  or  earth.  I  try, 
indeed,  not  to  think  of  him,  because  they  say  that  is  sin ; 
but  I  cannot  think  of  happiness  without  him,  if  I  try  for 
ever." 

I  said,  "  I  do  not  think  it  is  Avrong  for  you  to  think  of 
him." 

Her  face  brightened  for  an  instant,  and  then  she  sbooli 
her  he.ad,  and  said, — 

"Ah,  you  are  a  child:  you  are  an  angel.  You  do  not 
knov,-."  But  then  she  began  to  weep  agaui,  but  more 
quietly.     "I  wish  you  had  seen  him;    then  you   would 


a  I «  THE  &  CHONBERQ-  CO TTA  FAMILY. 

anderstand  better.  It  was  not  wrong  for  me  to  love  liitn 
once ;  and  he  was  so  diiFerent  from  every  one  else — sa 
true  and  gentle  and  so  brave." 

I  listened  while  she  continued  to  speak  of  him ;  and 
at  last,  looking  wistfully  at  me,  she  said,  in  a  low,  timM 
voice,  "  I  cannot  help  trusting  you."  And  she  drew  from 
inside  a  fold  of  her  robe  a  little  piece  of  yellow  i:)aper,  with 
a  few  words  written  on  it,  in  pale,  faded  ink,  and  a  lock  of 
brown  hair." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  very  wrong  ?"  she  asked,  "  I  have 
never  told  the  confessor,  because  I  am  not  quite  sure  if  it 
is  a  sin  to  keep  it ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  the  sisters  would 
take  it  from  me  if  they  knew.     Do  you  think  it  is  wrong  ?" 

The  words  were  very  simple — expressions  of  unchange- 
able aftection,  and  a  prayer  that  God  would  bless  her  and 
keep  them  for  each  other  till  better  times. 

I  could  not  speak,  I  felt  so  sorry ;  and  she  murmured, 
nervously  taking  her  poor  treasures  from  my  liands,  "  You 
do  not  think  it  right.  But  you  will  not  tell  ?  Perhaps 
one  day  I  shall  be  better,  and  be  able  to  give  them  up ! 
but  not  yet.     I  have  nothing  else." 

Then  I  tried  to  tell  her  that  she  had  something  else  ;— 
that  God  loved  her  and  had  J)ity  on  her,  and  that  perhaps 
he  vas  only  answering  the  prayer  of  her  betrothed,  and 
keeping  them  in  his  blessed  keeping  until  they  should  meet 
in  better  times.  At  length  she  seemed  to  take  comfort ; 
ind  I  knelt  down  with  her,  and  we  said  together  the 
prayers  she  had  been  commanded  to  recite. 

M  hen  I  rose,  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  You  seem  to  pray 
as  if  some  one  in  heaven  really  listened  and  cared." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  God  does  listen  and  care." 

"Even  to  me?''  she  asked;  "even  for  nie?  Will  ha 
Dot  despise  me,  like  the  holy  sisterhood  ?" 

"  lie  scorneth  no  one ;  and  they  say  the  lowest  are  near 
est  Him,  the  Highest." 


EVA'S  STORT.  a  13 

"I  can  certainly  never  be  anything  but  the  lowest,'*  sha 
wid.  "It  is  fit  no  one  here  should  think  r.iuch  of  me,  for 
I  have  only  given  the  refuse  of  my  life  to  God.  And  be' 
sides,  I  had  never  much  power  to  think ;  and  the  little  I 
had  seems  gone  since  Eberhard  died.  I  bad  only  a  little 
power  to  love ;  and  I  thought  that  was  dead.  But  sincfl 
you  came,  I  begin  to  think  1  might  yet  love  a  little." 

As  I  left  the  cell  she  called  me  back. 

"What  shall  I  do  when  my  thoughts  wander,  as  tbey 
always  do  in  the  long  prayers?"  she  asked. 

"  Make  shorter  prayers,  I  think,  ofteuer,"  I  said.  "  I 
think  that  would  please  God  as  much." 

August,  1511. 

THE  months  pass  on  very  much  the  same  here ;  but  1 
do  not  find  them  monotonous.  I  am  permitted  by 
the  prioress  to  wait  on  the  sick,  and  also  often  to  teach 
tlie  younger  novices.  This  little  world  grows  larger  to  me 
every  week.  It  is  a  world  of  human  hearts, — and  what  9 
world  there  is  in  every  heart ! 

For  instance.  Aunt  Agnes  !  I  begin  now  to  knoAv  her. 
All  the  sisterhood  look  up  to  her  as  almost  a  saint  already. 
But  I  do  not  believe  she  thinks  so  herself.  For  many 
months  after  I  entered  the  cloister  she  scarcely  seemed  to 
notice  me ;  but  last  week  she  brought  herself  into  a  low 
fever  by  the  additional  fasts  and  severities  she  has  been 
irapoaing  on  herself  lately. 

It  was  my  night  to  watch  iu  the  infirmary  when  she  be 
»rae  ill. 

At  first  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  receiving  anything  at 
my  hands. 

"Can  they  not  send  any  one  else?"  she  asked,  sternly. 

"  It  is  appointed  to  me,"  I  said,  "  in  the  order  of  tlie 
eistcrhood." 

She  bowed  Ju-r  head,  and  made  no  further  opposition  to 


14  TUE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

>joy  nursing  her.  And  it  was  very  sweet  to  me,  becans  ^ 
In  spite  of  all  the  settled,  grave  iiupressiveness  of  hef 
countenance,  I  could  not  help  seeing  something  there 
which  recalled  dear  Aunt  Cotta. 

She  jipokf  to  me  very  little ;  but  I  felt  lier  large  deep 
eyes  following  me  as  I  stirred  little  concoctions  from  herbs 
cn  the  fire,  or  crept  softly  about  the  room.  Towards 
morning  she  said,  "  Child,  you  are  tired — come  and  lie 
down ;"  and  she  pointed  to  a  little  bed  beside  her  own. 

Peremptory  as  were  the  words,  there  was  a  tone  in  them 
different  from  the  usual  metallic  firmness  in  her  voice — - 
which  froze  Else's  heart  —  a  tremulousness  Avhich  was 
almost  tender,  I  could  not  resist  the  command,  especially 
IS  she  said  she  felt  much  better ;  and  in  a  feAV  minutes,  bad 
nurse  that  I  was,  I  fell  asleep. 

How  long  I  slept  I  know  not,  but  I  was  awakened  by  a 
Blight  movement  in  the  room,  and  looking  up,  I  saw  Aunt 
Agnes's  bed  empty.  In  my  first  moments  of  bewildered 
terror  I  thought  of  arousing  the  sisterhood,  when  I  noticed 
that  the  door  of  the  infirmary  which  opened  on  the  gallery 
of  the  chapel  was  slightly  ajar.  Softly  I  stole  towards  it, 
and  there,  in  the  front  of  the  gallery,  wrapped  in  a  sheet, 
knelt  Aunt  Agnes,  looking  more  than  ever  like  the  picture 
of  death  which  she  always  recalled  to  Else.  Her  lips, 
which  were  as  bloodless  as  her  face,  moved  with  passionate 
rapidity ;  her  thin  hands  feebly  counted  the  black  beads  of 
her  rosary ;  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  picture  of  the 
Mater  Dolorosa  with  the  seven  swords  in  her  heart,  over 
one  of  the  altars.  There  was  no  impassiveness  in  the  poor 
sharp  features  and  trembling  lips  then.  Her  whole  soul 
seemed  going  forth  in  an  agonized  ajjpeal  to  that  pierced 
lieart ;  and  I  beared  her  murmur,  "  In  vain  !  Holy  Virgin, 
plead  for  nie !  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  The  flesh  is  no  more 
dead  in  me  than  the  first  day.  That  child's  face  and  voice 
stir  my  heart  more  than  all  thy  sorrows.     This  feeble  tie 


EVA'S  STORY.  21  ^ 

of  nature  has  more  i)Ower  in  iiie  than  all  the  relationshipa 
of  the  heavenly  city.  It  has  been  in  vain, — a/1,  all  in  vain. 
I  cannot  quench  the  fires  of  earth  in  my  heart." 

1  scarcely  ventured  to  interrupt  her,  but  as  she  bowed 
her  head  on  her  hands,  and  fell  almost  prostrate  on  th« 
Poor  of  the  chapel,  while  her  whole  frame  heaved  vvith  re 
pressed  sobs,  I  went  forward  and  gently  Ufted  her,  saying 
"  Sistof  Agnes,  I  am  responsible  for  the  sick  to-night. 
Tou  must  come  back." 

Slie  did  not  resist.  A  shudder  passed  through  her  ;  then 
the  old  stony  look  came  back  to  her  face,  more  rigid  than 
ever,  and  she  suffered  me  to  wrap  her  up  in  the  bed,  and 
give  her  a  warm  drink. 

I  do  not  know  "\\hether  she  suspects  that  I  heard  her. 
She  is  more  reserved  with  me  than  ever ;  but  to  me  those 
resolute,  fixed  features,  and  that  hard,  firm  voice,  will 
never  more  be  what  they  were  before. 

Xo  wonder  that  the  admiration  of  the  sisterhood  has  no 
power  to  elate  Aunt  Agnes,  and  that  their  wish  to  elect 
her  sub-prioress  had  no  seduction  for  her.  She  is  striving 
i\  her  inmost  soul  after  an  ideal,  which,  could  she  reach  it, 
what  would  she  be  ? 

As  regards  all  human  feeling  and  earthly  life,  dead! 

And  just  as  she  hoped  this  was  attained,  a  voice — a  poor, 
friendly  child's  voice — falls  on  her  ear,  and  she  finds  that 
wliat  she  deemed  death  was  only  a  dream  in  an  undis- 
turbed slumber,  and  that  the  whole  work  has  to  begin 
again.  It  is  a  fearful  combat,  this  concentrating  all  the 
powers  of  life  on  producing  death  in  life. 

Can  this  be  what  God  means  ? 

Thank  God,  at  least,  that  my  vocation  is  lower.  The 
ninnbling  work  in  the  infirmary,  and  the  trials  of  temper 
m  the  school  of  the  novices,  seem  to  teach  me  more,  and 
to  make  me  feel  that  I  atu  nothing  and  have  nolhing  in 
myself,  more  than  all  my  efibrts  to /eel  nothing. 


fll6  THE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

My  "  Theologia  says,  indeed,  that  true  self-abnegatvoa 
IS  freedom ;  and  freedom  cannot  be  attained  until  we  are 
above  the  fear  of  punislunent  or  the  hope  of  reward.  YAm 
caiiHot  bear  this ;  and  when  I  spoke  of  it  the  other  day  i»i 
|)oor  Sister  Beatrice,  she  said  it  bewildered  her  poor  brail- 
altogether  to  think  of  it.  But  I  do  not  take  it  in  thai 
sense.  I  thick  it  must  mean  that  love  is  its  ywn  .'"ewara, 
and  grieving  Him  we  love,  who  has  so  loved  ue,  onr  wcrat 
punishment ;  and  that  seems  to  me  quite  true. 


XI. 


ELbE'S   STORY,    i 


"Wittenberg,  June^  1512. 
I  UIl  Eva  seems  happy  at  the  convent.     She  hai 
taken  the  vows,  and  is  now  finally  Sister  Ave. 
She  has  also  sent  us  some  eye-water  for  the 
lather.     But  in  spite  of  all  we  can  do  his  sight 
seems  failing. 

In  some  way  or  other  I  think  my  father's  loss  of  sight 
has  brought  blessing  to  the  family. 

Our  grandmother,  wiio  is  very  feeble  now,  and  seldom- 
leaves  her  chair  by  the  stove,  has  become  much  more  tol- 
erant of  hiu  schemes  since  there  is  no  chance  of  their  b<r  ng 
carried  out,  and  listens  with  remarkable  patience  to  his 
statements  of  the  wonders  he  would  have  achieved  had  hia 
sight  only  been  continued  a  few  years. 

Nor  does  the  father  himself  seem  as  much  dejected  a« 
or.e  Avould  have  expected. 

When  I  was  comforting  him  to-day  by  saying  hqw  much 
less  anxious  our  mother  looks,  he  replied, — 

"Yes,  my  child,  the  propter  pluperfect  subjunctive  is  a 
mjre  corafort:ible  tense  to  live  in  than  the  future  subjuno 
live,  for  any  length  of  time." 

I  look  perplexed,  and  ho  explained, — 

10  1217) 


ti8  THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTji.  FAMILY. 

"  It  is  easier,  when  once  one  has  macle  up  one's  rain^  to 
it,  to  say,  '  Had  I  had  this  I  might  have  done  that,'  than, 
'  If  I  can  have  this  I  shall  do  that,' — at  least  it  is  easier  to 
the  anxious  and  excitable  feminine  mind." 

"  But  to  you,  father  ?" 

"To  me  it  is  a  consolation  at  last  to  be  appreciated. 
Even  your  grandmother  understands  at  length  how  great 
the  results  would  have  been  if  I  could  only  have  had  eye- 
sight to  perfect  that  last  invention  for  using  steam  to  draw 
water." 

Our  gi-andmother  must  certainly  have  i3ut  great  restraint 
on  her  usually  fi'ank  expression  of  opinion,  if  she  has  led 
our  father  to  believe  she  had  any  confidence  in  that  last 
scheme  ;  for,  1  must  confess,  that  of  all  our  father's  inven- 
tions and  discoveries,  the  whole  family  consider  this  idea 
about  tlie  steam  the  wildest  and  most  impracticable  of  all. 
The  secret  of  perpetual  motion  might,  no  doubt,  be  discov- 
ered,  and  a  clock  be  constructed  which  would  never  need 
winding  up, — I  see  no  great  difficulty  in  that.  It  might 
be  quite  possible  to  transmute  lead  into  gold,  or  iron  into 
silver,  if  one  could  find  exactly  the  right  proportions  of 
heat.  My  father  has  explained  all  that  to  me  quite  clearly. 
The  elixir  which  would  prolong  life  indefinitely  seems  to 
me  a  little  more  diificult ;  but  this  notion  of  pumping  up 
water  by  means  of  the  steam  which  issues  from  boilinp: 
water  and  dis])erses  in  an  instant,  we  all  agree  in  thinking 
quite  visionary,  and  out  of  the  question;  so  that  it  is,  per- 
haps, as  well  our  poor  father  should  not  have  thrown  away 
any  more  expense  or  ^ime  on  it.  Besides,  we  had  already 
had  two  or  three  explosions  from  his  experiments ;  and 
eorae  of  the  neighbours  weie  beginning  to  say  very  un- 
pleasant things  about  the  black  art,  and  witchcraft ;  so 
that  on  the  whole,  no  doubt,  it  is  all  for  the  best. 

I  would  not,  however,  for  the  world,  have  hinted  thii 
to  him  J  therefore  I  only  replied,  evasively, — 


ELSE'S  STORY.  2,q 

"Our  grandmotner  luis  indeed  been  much  gentler  and 
more  plucid  lately." 

''It  is  not  only  that,"  he  rejoined;  she  has  an  intelli- 
gence far  superior  to  that  of  most  ivomen, — she  compre- 
hends. And  then,"  he  continued,  "  I  am  not  without  hopes 
tliat  that  young  nobleman,  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf,  who  comes 
liere  so  frequently  and  asks  about  Eva,  may  one  day  carry 
out  my  schemes.  lie  and  Chriemhild  begin  to  enter  into 
the  idea  quite  iiitelligently.  Besides,  there  is  Master  Kei- 
chenbach,  the  rich  merchant  to  whom  your  Aunt  Cotta 
introduced  us  ;  he  has  money  enough  to  carry  things  out 
in  the  best  style.  lie  certainly  does  not  promise  much, 
but  he  is  an  intelligent  listener,  and  that  is  a  great  step. 
Gottfried  Reichenbacli  is  an  enlightened  man  for  a  mer- 
chant, although  he  is,  perhaps,  rather  slow  in  comprehen- 
sion, and  a  little  over-cautious." 

"  He  is  not  over-cautious  in  his  alms,  father,"  I  said ; 
*'  at  least  Dr.  Martin  Luther  says  so.^' 

"Pehaps  not,"  he  said.  "On  the  whole,  certainly,  the 
citizens  of  Wittenberg  are  very  superior  to  those  of  Eisen- 
ach, who  were  incredulous  and  dull  to  the  last  degree.  It 
will  be  a  great  thing  if  Reichenbaeh  and  Von  Gersdorf 
take  up  this  invention.  Ifeichenbach  can  introduce  it  at 
once  among  the  patrician  families  of  the  great  cities  Avith 
whom  he  is  connected,  and  Von  Gersdorf  Avould  promote 
it  araoug  his  kindred  knights.  It  would  not,  indeed,  be 
such  an  advaiUage  to  our  family  as  if  Pollux  and  Christo- 
pner,  or  our  poor  Fritz,  had  carried  it  out.  But  never 
mind,  Else,  my  child,  we  are  children  of  Adam  before  Ave 
are  Oottas.  We  must  think  not  only  of  the  family,  but 
')ftlie  world." 

Master  Reichenbaeh,  indeed,  may  take  a  genuine  interest 
in  my  mthor's  plans,  but  I  have  suspicious  of  Ulrich  von 
Gersdoil.  lie  seems  to  me  far  more  interested  in  Chrieni- 
hild's  embroidery  than  in  our  father's  steam-pump;  and 


S20  TEE  SCHONBESO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

dlthough  he  continues  to  talk  of  Eva  as  if  he  thought  Les 
an  angel,  he  certainly  sometimes  looks  at  Chriemhild  as  if 
Sie  tho  nght  her  a  creature  as  interesting. 

I  do  not  like  such  transitions  ;  and,  besides,  his  conver- 
sation is  so  very  difierent,  in  my  opinion,  from  Master 
Iteichenbach's.  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  has  no  experience  of 
life  beyond  a  boar-hunt,  a  combat  with  some  rival  knights, 
or  a  foray  on  some  defenceless  merchants.  His  life  has 
been  passed  in  the  castle  of  an  uncle  of  his  in  the  Thurin- 
gian  Forest ;  and  I  cannot  wonder  that  Chriemhild  listens, 
with  a  glow  of  interest  on  her  face,  as  she  sits  with  her 
eyes  bent  on  her  embroidery,  to  his  stories  of  ambushes 
and  daring  surprises.  But  to  me  this  life  seems  rude  and 
lawless.  Ulrich's  uncle  was  unmarried  ;  and  they  had  no 
ladies  in  the  castle  except  a  widowed  aunt  of  Ulrich,  who 
seems  to  be  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  especially  to  pride 
herself  on  being  able  to  wear  pearls  and  velvet,  which  no 
burgher's  wife  may  appear  in. 

Ulrich's  mother  died  early.  I  fancy  she  was  gentler 
and  of  a  truer  nobleness.  He  says  the  only  book  they 
have  in  the  castle  is  an  old  illuminated  Missal  which  be- 
longed to  her.  He  has  another  aunt,  Beatrice,  Avho  is  in 
the  convent  at  Nimj^tschen  with  our  Eva.  They  sent  her 
there  to  prevent  her  marrying  the  son  of  a  family  with 
whom  they  had  an  hereditary  feud.  I  begin  to  feel,  as 
Fritz  used  to  say,  that  the  life  of  these  petty  nobles  is  not 
nearly  so  noble  as  that  of  the  burghers.  They  seem  to 
know  nothing  of  the  world  beyond  the  little  district  they 
•rule  by  terror.  They  have  no  honest  way  of  maintaining 
themselves,  but  live  by  the  hard  toil  of  their  poor  oppressed 
peasants,  and  by  the  plunder  of  their  enemies. 

Jlerr  Reichenbach,  on  the  other  hand,  is  connected  with 
the  patrician  families  in  the  great  city  of  Niirnberg  ;  and 
although  he  does  not  talk  much,  he  has  histories  to  tell  of 
painters  and  poets,  and  great  events  in  the  broad  field  of 


ELSE'S  STORY.  ai 

tfte  world.     Ah,  [  wish  he  had  known  Fritz !     He  likes  to 
hear  me  talk  of  liiin. 

And  then,  moreover,  Herr  Reichenbacb  has  much  to  tell 
me  about  Brother  Martin  Luther,  who  is  at  the  head  of 
the  Eremite  or  Augustine  Convent  here,  and  seems  to  mo 
to  be  the  great  man  of  Wittenberg ;  at  least  people  appeal 
V>  like  him  or  dislike  him  more  than  any  one  else  here. 

October  19,  1513. 

THIS  has  been  a  great  day  at  Wittenberg.  Friar 
Martin  Luther  has  been  created  Doctor  of  Divinity* 
Master  Reichenbach  procured  us  excellent  places,  and  we 
saw  the  degree  conferred  on  him  by  Dr.  Andrew  Boden- 
»5tein  of  Carlstadt. 

The  great  bell  of  the  city  churches,  which  only  sounds 
on  great  occasions,  pealed  as  if  for  a  Church  festival ;  all 
the  university  authorities  marched  in  procession  through 
the  streets  ;  and  after  taking  the  vow.  Friar  Martin  was 
solemnly  invested  with  the  doctors  robes,  hat,  and  ring — ■ 
a  massive  gold  ring  presented  to  him  by  the  Elector. 

But  the  part  which  impressed  me  most  was  the  oath, 
which  Dr,  Luther  pronounced  most  solemnly,  so  that  the 
words,  in  his  fine  clear  voice,  rang  through  the  silence. 
He  repeated  it  after  Dr.  Bodenstein,  who  is  commonly 
called  Carlstadt.  The  words  in  Latin,  Herr  Reichenbach 
says,  were  these  (he  wrote  them  for  me  to  send  to  Eva), — 

"  Juro  me  veritatem  evangelicam  viriliter  defensurum  ;*■ 
which  Herr  Reichenbach  translated,  "  /  swear  vigorously  to 
iefend  evangelical  truth.'''' 

This  oath  is  only  required  at  one  other  university  besides 
Wittenberg, — that  of  Tubingen.  Dr.  Luther  swore  it  n> 
f  h.e  were  a  knight  of  olden  times,  vowing  to  ri.sk  life  and 
limb  in  some  sacred  cause.  To  me,  who  could  not  under 
htifid  the  words,  his  manner  was  more  that  of  a  warrior 
i\c earing  on  his  eword,  than  of  a  doctor  of  divinity. 


143  TEE  SCHd'KBERG- GOTTA  FAMILY. 

And  IMaster  Reichenbach  says,  '•  What  he  has  promised 
he  will  do." 

Chriemhild  laughs  at  Master  Reichenbach,  because  he 
has  entered  his  name  oi  the  list  of  university  students,  in 
order  to  attend  Dr.  Luther's  lectures. 

"  With  his  grave  old  face,  and  his  grey  hair,"  she  says, 
"  to  sit  among  those  noisy  student  boys." 

But  I  can  see  nothing  laughable  in  it.  I  think  it  is  a 
sign  of  something  noble,  for  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life  to 
be  content  to  learn  as  a  little  child.  And  besides,  what- 
ever Chriemhild  may  say,  if  Herr  Reichenbach  is  a  little 
bald,  and  has  a  few  grey  hairs,  it  is  not  on  account  of  age. 
Grown  men,  who  tliink  and  feel  in  these  stormy  times, 
cannot  be  expected  to  have  smooth  faces  and  full  curly 
locks,  like  Uh-icli  von  Gersdorf. 

I  am  sure  if  I  were  a  man  twice  as  old  as  he  is,  there 
is  nothing  I  should  like  better  than  to  attend  Dr.  Luther's 
lectures.  I  have  heard  him  preach  once  in  the  City 
Church,  and  it  was  quite  different  from  any  other  sermon 
I  ever  heard.  He  spoke  of  God  and  Christ,  and  heaven 
and  hell,  with  as  much  conviction  and  simplicity  as  if  he 
had  been  pleading  some  cause  of  human  wrong,  or  relating 
some  great  events  which  happened  on  earth  yesterday. 
Instead  of  reciting  it  like  a  piece  of  Latin  grammar,  as  so 
many  of  the  monks  do. 

I  began  almost  to  feel  as  if  I  might  at  last  find  a  religion 
that  would  do  for  me.  Even  Christopher  was  attentive. 
He  said  Dr.  Luther  called  everything  by  such  plain  names, 
one  could  not  help  understanding. 

We  have  seen  him  once  at  our  house.  He  was  so  re- 
spectful to  our  grandmother,  and  so  patient  with  my  father, 
and  ho  spoke  so  kindly  of  Fritz. 

Fritz  has  written  to  us,  and  has  recommended  us  to  take 
Or.  Martin  Luther  for  our  family  ccnfessor.  He  says  he 
lan  never  repay  the  good  Dr.  Luther  has  done  to  him. 


ELSE'S  STOUT. 


**i 


And  certainly  lie  writes  more  brightly  and  hopefully  than 
he  ever  has  since  he  left  us,  although  Lie  has,  alas !  finally 
taken  those  dreadful,  irrevocable  vows 

March,  1513. 

DR.  LUTHER  has  consented  to  be  our  confessor ;  and 
thank  God  I  do  believe  at  last  I  have  found  the 
religion  which  may  make  me,  even  me,  love  God.  Dr 
Luther  says  I  have  entirely  misunderstood  God  and  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  He  seemed  to  understand  all  I  have 
been  longing  for  and  perplexing  myself  about  all  my  life, 
with  a  glance.  When  I  began  to  falter  out  my  confessions 
and  difficulties  to  him,  he  seemed  to  see  them  all  spread 
before  him,  and  explained  them  all  to  me.  He  says  I  have 
been  thinking  of  God  as  a  severe  judge,  an  exactor,  a  harsh 
creditor,  when  he  is  a  giver,  a  forgiving  saviour,  yea,  the 
very  fountain  of  inexpressible  love. 

"  God's  love,"  lie  said,  "  gives  ir.  such  a  way  that  it  flows 
from  a  Father's  heart,  the  well-spring  of  all  good.  The 
heart  of  the  giver  makes  the  gift  dear  and  precious ;  as 
among  ourselves  we  say  of  even  a  trifling  gift,  '  It  comes 
from  a  hand  we  love,'  and  look  not  so  much  at  the  gift  as 
at  the  heart." 

"  If  we  will  only  consider  him  in  his  works,  we  shall 
learn  that  God  is  nothing  else  but  pure,  unutterable  love, 
greater  and  more  than  any  one  can  think.  The  shameful 
thing  is,  that  the  world  does  not  regard  this,  nor  thank 
him  for  it,  although  every  day  it  sees  before  it  such  count- 
iess  benefits  from  him ;  and  it  deserves  for  its  ingratitude 
that  the  sun  should  not  shine  another  moment  longer,  nor 
the  grass  grow,  yet  he  ceases  not,  without  a  moment's 
biterval,  to  love  us,  and  tf  do  us  good.  Language  must 
fail  me  to  speak  of  hk  spiritual  gifts.  Here  he  pours  forth 
for  us,  not  sun  and  moon,  nor  heaven  and  earth,  but  hi? 
own  heart,  his  beloved  Son,  so  that  he  suffered  his  bh-od 
to  be  shed,  and  the  most  shameful  death  to  be  inflicted  00 


224  ^^^  SCEONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

him,  for  us  Avretclied,  wiclved,  tliankless  creatures.  IIoWj 
tlien,  cau  we  say  anything  but  that  God  is  an  abyss  of 
endless,  unfathomable  love  ?" 

"  The  whole  Bible,"  he  says,  "  is  full  of  this,  that  we 
should  not  doubt,  but  be  absolutely  certain,  that  God  is 
merciful,  gracious,  patient,  faithful,  and  true ;  who  not  only 
will  keep  his  promises,  but  already  has  kept  and  done  abun- 
dantly beyond  what  he  promised,  since  he  has  given  hia 
own  Son  for  our  sins  on  the  cross,  that  all  who  believe  in 
him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

"  Whoever  believes  and  embraces  this,"  he  added,  "  that 
God  has  given  his  only  Son  to  die  for  us  poor  sinners,  to 
him  it  is  no  longer  any  doubt,  but  the  most  certain  truth, 
that  God  reconciles  us  to  himself,  and  is  favourable  and 
heartily  gracious  to  us." 

"  Since  the  gospel  shows  us  Chrigt  the  Son  of  God,  who, 
according  to  the  Avill  of  the  Father,  has  offered  himself  up 
for  us,  and  has  satisfied  for  sin,  the  heart  can  no  more 
doubt  God's  goodness  and  grace, — is  no  more  affrighted, 
nor  flies  from  God,  but  sets  all  its  hope  in  his  goodness 
and  mercy." 

"  The  apostles  are  always  exhorting  us,"  he  says,  "  to 
continue  in  the  love  of  God, — that  is,  that  each  one  shoidd 
entirely  conclude  in  his  heart  that  he  is  loved  by  God ;  and 
Bet  before  our  eyes  a  certain  proof  of  it,  in  that  God  has 
not  spared  his  Son,  but  given  him  for  the  world,  that 
through  his  death  the  world  might  again  have  life. 

"  It  is  God's  honour  and  glory  to  give  liberally.  His 
nature  is  all  pure  love  ;  so  that  if  any  one  would  describe 
or  picture  God,  he  must  describe  One  who  is  pure  love, 
the  divine  nature  being  nothiiig  else  than  a  furnace  and 
glow  of  such  love  that  it  fills  heaven  and  earth. 

"  Love  is  an  image  of  God,  and  not  a  dead  image,  nor 
one  painted  on  paper,  but  the  living  essence  of  the  divine 
nature,  which  burns  full  of  all  goodness. 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


"S 


"  He  is  not  harsh,  as  we  are  to  those  who  have  uijured 
QS  "We  Avithdraw  our  hand  and  close  our  \  urse ;  but  ha 
is  kind  to  the  unthankful  and  the  evil. 

"He  sees  thee  in  thy  poverty  and  wretchedness,  and 
knows  thou  hast  nothing  to  pay.  Therefore  he  freely  for- 
gives, and  gives  thee  all." 

"  It  is  not  to  be  borne,"  he  said,  "  that  Christian  people 
feliould  say,  "We  cannot  know  whether  God  is  favourable 
to  us  or  not.  On  the  contrary,  we  should  learn  to  say,  I 
know  that  I  believe  in  Christ,  and  therefore  that  God  is 
my  gracious  Father." 

"  What  is  the  reason  that  God  gives  ?"  he  said,  one  day. 
•'  What  moves  him  to  it  ?  Nothing  but  unutterable  love, 
because  he  delights  to  give  and  to  bless.  What  does  he 
give  ?  Not  empires  merely,  not  a  world  full  of  silver  and 
gold,  not  heaven  and  earth  only,  but  liis  Son,  who  is  as 
great  as  himself, — that  is,  eternal  and  incomprehensible ;  a 
gift  as  infinite  as  the  Giver,  the  very  spring  and  fountain 
of  all  grace ;  yea,  the  possession  and  property  of  all  tlie 
riches  and  treasures  of  God." 

Dr.  Luther  said  also,  that  the  best  name  by  which  we 
can  think  of  God  is  Father.  "  It  is  a  loving,  sweet,  deep, 
heart-touching  name ;  for  the  name,of  father  is  in  its  nature 
full  of  inborn  sweetness  and  comfort.  Therefore,  also,  we 
must  confess  ourselves  children  of  God  ;  for  by  this  name 
we  deeply  touch  our  God,  since  there  is  not  a  sweeter 
eound  to  the  flither  than  the  voice  of  the  child." 

All  this  is  wonderful  to  me.  I  scarcely  dare  to  open  my 
hand,  and  take  this  belief  home  to  my  heart. 

Is  it  then,  indeed,  thus  we  must  think  of  God  ?  Is  he, 
indeed,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  ready  to  listen  to  our  feeblest 
cry,  ready  to  forgive  us,  and  to  help  us  1 

And  if  he  is  indeed  like  this,  and  cares  what  we  think 
of  him,  how  I  must  have  grieved  hin\  all  these  years ! 

Not    a    moment    longer, — I    will    not    distrust    Theo 


,.  t\  TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

a  m  ;ment  longer.  See,  heavenly  Father,  I  have  com« 
back ! 

Can  it,  indeed,  bo  possible  that  God  is  pleased  when  we 
trust  him, — pleased  when  we  pray,  simply  because  hb 
loves  us? 

Can  it  indeed  be  true,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  that  love  is 
our  greatest  virtue ;  and  that  we  please  God  best  by  being 
kind  to  each  other,  just  because  that  is  what  is  most  like 
him  ? 

I  am  sure  it  is  true.     It  is  so  good,  it  must  be  true. 

Theu  it  is  possible  for  me,  even  for  me,  to  love  God. 
flow  is  it  possible  for  me  not  to  love  him  ?  And  it  is  pos- 
sible for  me,  even  for  me,  to  be  religious,  if  to  be  religious 
is  to  love  God,  and  to  do  whatever  we  can  to  make  those 
around  us  happy. 

But  if  this  is  indeed  religion,  it  is  happiness,  it  is  free- 
dom,— it  is  life ! 

Why,  then,  are  so  many  of  the  religious  people  1  know 
of  a  sad  countenance,  as  if  they  were  bond-servants  toiling 
for  a  hard  master  ? 

I  must  ask  Dr.  Luther. 

Ap7'il,  1513. 

I  HAVE  asked  Dr.  Luther,  and  he  says  it  is  because  tho 
devil  makes  a  great  deal  of  the  religion  we  see ;  that 
lie  pretends  to  be  Christ,  and  comes  and  terrifies  people, 
and  scourges  them  with  the  remembrance  of  their  sins, 
and  tells  them  they  must  not  dare  to  lift  up  their  eyes  to 
heaven  ;  God  is  so  holy,  and  they  are  so  sinful.  But  it  is 
all  because  he  knows  that  if  they  would  lift  their  eyes  to 
heaven,  their  terrors  would  vanish,  and  they  would  see 
Christ  there,  not  as  the  Judge  and  the  hard,  exacting 
Cieditor,  but  as.  the  pitiful,  loving  Saviour. 

I  find  it  a  great  comfort  to  believe  in  this  way  in  the 
ievil.     TIas  ho  net  been  trying  to  teach  me  his  religion  aU 


ELSE'S  STOnT.  «i 

my  life?  And  now  I  have  found  him  ont.  He  has  been 
telling  me  lies,  not  about  myself  (Dr.  Lutber  says  he  can 
not  paint  us  more  sinful  than  Ave  are),  but  I'os  about  God. 
It  heljis  me  almost  as  much  to  hear  Dr.  Luthnr  speak  abciut 
the  devil  as  about  God — "  the  malignant,  sad  spirit,"  he 
fiays,  *'  who  loves  to  make  every  one  sad." 

With  God's  help,  I  will  never  believe  him  a^raiu.  But 
Dr.  Luther  said  I  shall,  often  ;  that  he  will  come  f)gain  and 
malign  God,  and  aiisail  my  peace  iu  so  many  wa^?,  that  it 
will  be  long  before  I  learn  to  know  bim. 

I  shuddered  when  he  told  me  this ;  but  tiie.i  he  re- 
aj^sured  me,  by  telling  me  a  beautiful  story,  which,  he  said, 
was  from  the  Bible.  It  Mas  about  a  Good  Shepherd  and 
sUly,  wandering  sheep,  and  a  wolf  A\'ho  sought  to  derour 
them.  "  All  the  care  of  the  Shepherd,"  he  said,  "  is  in  the 
tenderest  way  to  attract  the  sheep  to  keep  close  to  him ; 
arid  when  they  Avander,  he  goes  and  seeks  them,  takes 
them  on  his  shoulder,  and  carries  them  safe  home.  All  our 
Avisdom,"  he  says,  "is  to  keep  always  near  this  Good 
Shepherd,  who  is  Christ,  and  to  listen  to  his  voice." 

I  knoAV  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  called  the  Good  Shep- 
herd. I  have  seen  the  picture  of  him  carrying  the  lamb 
on  his  shoulder.  But  until  Dr.  Luther  explained  it  to  me, 
T  thought  it  meant  that  he  was  the  Lord  and  Owner  of  a)' 
the  world,  Avho  are  his  flock.  But  I  never  thought  tha' 
he  cared  for  me  as  his  sheep,  sought  me,  called  me,  Avatche«.' 
me,  even  me,  day  by  day. 

Other  people,  no  doubt,  have  understood  all  this  before 
And  yet,  if  so,  Avhy  do  not  the  monks  preach  of  it  ?  Whj 
Bliould  Aunt  Agnes  serve  Him  in  the  convent  by  penances  ^ 
and  self-tormentings,  instead  of  serving  him  in  the  Avorld 
by  being  kind  and  helping  all  around.  Why  should  our 
dear,  gcLtle  mother,  have  such  sad,  self-reproacht'U 
thoughts,  and  feel  as  if  she  and  our  family  Aveie  under  a 
eurse  ? 


928  THE  SCHO'NBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Dr.  Luther  said  that  Christ  was  "made  a  curse  for  us  ,* 
that  he,  the  unspotted  and  uudefiled  Lamb  of  God,  bore 
the  curse  for  us  on  the  cross ;  and  that  we,  believing  in 
him,  are  not  under  the  curse,  but  under  tlie  blessing — that 
we  are  blessed. 

This,  then,  is  what  the  crucifix  and  the  Agnus  Dei  mean. 

Doubtless  many  around  me  have  understood  all  this 
long  ago.     I  am  sure,  at  least,  that  ovir  Eva  understood  it. 

But  what  inexpressible  joy  for  me,  as  I  sit  at  my  em- 
broidery in.  the  garden,  to  look  up  through  the  apple-blos- 
soms and  the  fluttering  leaves,  and  to  see  God's  love  there  ; 
— to  listen  to  the  thrush  that  has  built  his  nest  among 
them,  and  feel  God's  love,  who  cares  for  the  birds,  in  every 
note  that  swells  his  little  throat ; — to  look  beyond  to  the 
bright  blue  depths  of  the  sky,  and  feel  they  are  a  canopy 
of  blessing — the  roof  of  the  house  of  my  Father ;  that  if 
clouds  pass  over,  it  is  the  unchangeable  light  they  veil ; 
that,  even  when  the  day  itself  passes,  I  shall  see  that  the 
night  itself  only  imveils  new  worlds  of  light ; — and  to 
know  that  if  I  could  unwrap  fold  after  fold  of  God's  uni- 
verse, I  should  only  unfold  more  and  more  blessing,  and 
see  deep'^r  and  deeper  into  the  love  which  is  at  the  heart 
of  all ! 

And  then  what  joy  again  to  turn  to  my  em.broidery, 
and,  as  my  fingers  busily  ply  the  needle,  to  think — 

"  This  is  to  help  my  father  and  mother ;  this,  even  this, 
is  a  little  work  of  love.  And  as  I  sit  and  stitch,  God  is 
pleased  with  me,  and  with  what  I  am  doing.  He  gives 
ine  this  to  do,  as  much  as  he  gives  the  priests  to  pray,  and 
Dr.  Luther  to  preach.  I  am  serving  Him,  and  he  is  near 
me  in  my  little  corner  of  the  world,  and  is  pleased  with 
me — even  with  me  !" 

Oh,  Fritz  and  Eva !  if  you  had  both  knoAvn  this,  nt^jd 
you  have  left  us  to  go  and  serve  God  so  far  away  ? 

Have  I  indeed,  like  St.  Christopher,  found  my  bank  of 


ELSE'S  ST  our.  ,29 

the  river,  where  1  cnn  serve  my  Saviour  by  heli:)iiig  all  the 
pilgrims  I  can  : 

Better,  better  than  St.  Christopher  ;  for  do  I  not  kno>v 
the  voice  that  calls  to  me, — 

"  Else  !  Else  !  do  this  for  me  ?" 

And  now  I  do  not  feel  at  all  afraid  to  grow  old,  wliich 
is  a  great  relief,  as  I  am  already  six-and-twenty,  and  the 
children  think  me  nearly  as  old  as  our  mother.  For  what 
is  growing  old,  if  Dr.  Martin  Luther  is  indeed  right  (and 
I  am  sure  he  is),  but  growing  daily  nearer  God,  and  his 
holy,  happy  house  !  Dr.  Luther  says  our  Saviour  called 
heaven  his  Father's  house. 

Not  that  I  Avish  to  leave  this  -world.  While  God  wills 
we  should  stay  here,  and  is  with  us,  is  it  not  homelike 
enough  for  us  ? 

3fay,  1513. 

TPIIS  morning  I  was  busy  making  a  favourite  pudding 
of  the  father's,  when  I  heard  Herr  Reichenbach's 
voice  at  the  door.  He  went  into  the  dwelling-room,  and 
Boon  afterwards  Chriemhild,  Atlantis,  and  Thekla,  invaded 
the  kitchen. 

'*  Herr  Reichenbach  wishes  to  have  a  consultation,"  said 
Chriemliild,  "  and  we  are  sent  away." 

I  felt  anxious  for  a  moment.  It  seemed  like  the  old 
Eisenach  days  ;  but  since  we  have  been  at  Wittenberg 
we  liave  never  gone  into  debt ;  so  that,  after  thhiking  a 
little,  I  was  re-assured.  The  children  were  full  of  specula- 
tions Avhat  it  would  be  about.  Chriemhild  thought  it  Avas 
Bome  affair  of  state,  because  she  had  seen  him  in  close  con- 
fabulation Avith  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  as  he  came  up  the 
street,  and  they  had  probably  been  discussing  some  ques- 
tion about  the  privileges  of  the  nobles  and  burghers. 

Atlantis  believed  it  had  something  to  do  with  Dr.  Mar- 
tin  Luther,  because  Hen-  Reiclieaibach  had  presented  th« 


230  THE  SCUONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

motbcr  Avith  a  nen^  pamphlet  of  the  Dooior^s,  on  entering 
the  room. 

Thekla  was  sure  it  was  at  last  tlie  opportunity  to  raaka 
use  of  one  of  the  ftitlier's  discoveries, — whether  the  pei> 
petual  clock,  or  the  transmutation  of  metals,  or  the  steam- 
pump,  she  could  not  tell ;  but  she  was  persuaded  it  was 
•something  which  was  to  make  our  fortunes  at  last,  be- 
cause Ilerr  Reichenbach  looked  so  very  much  in  earnest, 
and  was  so  very  respectful  to  our  father. 

They  had  not  much  time  to  discuss  their  various  theo. 
ries  when  we  heard  Ilerr  Reichenbach's  step  pass  hurriedly 
through  the  passage,  and  the  door  closed  hastily  after 
him. 

"  Do  you  call  that  a  consultation  ?"  said  Chriemhild, 
Ecornfully  ;  "  he  has  not  been  here  ten  minutes." 

The  next  instant  our  mother  appeared,  looking  very 
pale,  and  with  her  voice  trembling  as  she  said, — 

"  Else,  my  child,  we  Avant  you." 

"  You  are  to  know  first.  Else,"  said  the  cliildren.  "  Well, 
it  is  only  fair  ;  you  are  a  dear  good  eldest  sister,  and  Avili 
be  sure  to  tell  us." 

I  scarcely  kncAv  Avhy,  but  my  fingers  did  not  seem  as 
much  under  control  as  usual,  and  it  Avas  some  momenta 
before  I  could  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  my  pudding, 
Avash  my  hands,  pull  down  the  Avhite  sleeves  to  my  wrists, 
and  join  them  in  the  dwelling-room,  so  that  my  mother 
re-appeared  Avith  an  impatience  very  unusual  for  her,  and 
led  me  in  herself. 

"  Else,  darling,  come  here,"  said  my  father.  And  Avlten 
he  felt  my  hand  in  his,  he  added,  "  Herr  Reichenbach  left 
a  message  for  thee.  Other  parents  often  decide  thesa 
matters  for  their  children,  but  thy  mother  and  I  wish  to 
leave  1.  le  matter  to  thee.     Couldst  thou  be  his  wife  ?" 

The  question  took  me  by  surprise^  and  I  could  only 
say,— 


ELSE'S  STOUT. 


«3» 


**  Can  it  be  j.  o  jsible  be  tbinks  of  me  ?" 

"  I  see  notbing  uiipossible  in  tbat,  my  Else,"  said  my 
fatber ;  "  but  at  all  events  Herr  Reicbenbacb  bas  placed 
that  beyond  a  doubt.  The  question  now  is  whether  our 
Else  can  think  of  him." 

I  could  not  say  anything. 

"  Think  well  before  you  reject  him,"  said  my  father ; 
*'  he  is  a  good  and  generous  man,  be  desires  no  portion 
with  thee,  and  be  says  thou  wouldst  be  a  portion  for  a 
king ;  and  I  must  say  be  is  very  intelUgent  and  well- 
informed,  and  can  appreciate  scientific  inventions  as  few 
men  in  these  days  can." 

"  I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  dismissed,"  I  faltered. 

But  my  tender-hearted  mother  said,  laying  my  bead  on 
her  shoulder, — 

"  Yet  tlunk  well,  darUng,  before  you  accept  him.  We 
are  not  poor  now,  and  we  need  no  stranger's  wealth  to 
make  us  happy.  Heaven  forbid  that  our  child  should 
sacrifice  herself  for  us.  Herr  Reichenbach  is,  no  doubt,  a 
good  and  wise  man,  but  I  know  well  a  young  maiden's 
fancy.  He  is  little,  I  know — not  tall  and  stalwart,  like  our 
Fritz  and  Christopher  ;  and  be  is  a  little  bald,  and  be  is 
not  very  young,  and  rather  grave  and  silent,  and  young 
girls — " 

"  But,  mother,"  I  said,  "  I  am  not  a  young  girl,  I  am 
Rix-and-twenty  ;  and  I  do  not  think  Herr  Reichenbach  old? 
and  I  never  noticed  tbat  be  was  bald,  and  I  am  sure  to 
ne  be  is  not  silent." 

"  That  will  do.  Else,"  said  the  grandmother,  laughing 
fi-om  her  corner  by  the  stove.  "  Son  and  daughter,  let 
these  two  settle  it  together.  They  will  arrange  matters 
better  than  we  shall  for  them." 

And  in  the  evening  Herr  Reichenbach  came  ago  in,  and 
everything  was  arranged. 

"Anc  that  is  what  the  consultation  was  about!"  said 


2  32  TUE  SCHONBEIIG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

the  cliildreii,  not  without  some  disappcintment.  '  It  seeina 
euch  an  oi-dinary  thing,"  said  Atlantis,  "  we  are  so  used  to 
seeing  Ilerr  Reichenbach.     He  comes  ahnost  every  day." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  that  is  any  objection,"  said  Chriem- 
hild  ;  "  but  it  seems  hardly  like  being  married,  only  just 
to  cross  the  street.     His  house  is  just  opjDOsite. 

'•  But  it  is  a  great  deal  prettier  than  ours,"  said  Thekla 
"  I  like  Herr  Reichenbach  ;  no  one  ever  took  such  an 
mterest  in  my  drawings  as  he  does.  He  tells  me  where 
they  are  wrong,  and  shows  me  how  to  make  them  right, 
as  if  he  really  felt  it  of  some  consequence ;  which  it  is, 
you  know,  Else,  because  one  day  I  mean  to  embroider  and 
help  the  family,  like  you.  And  no  one  was  ever  so  kind 
to  Nix  as  he  is.  He  took  the  dog  on  his  knee  the  other 
day,  and  drew  out  a  splinter  which  had  lamed  him,  which 
Nix  would  not  let  any  one  else  do  but  me.  Nix  is  very 
fond  of  Plerr  Reichenbach,  and  so  am  I.  He  is  much 
wiser,  I  think,  than  Ulrich,  who  teases  Nix,  and  pretends 
never  to  know  my  cats  from  my  cows  ;  and  I  do  not  see 
that  he  is  much  older  ;  besides,  I  could  not  bear  our  Else 
to  live  a  step  further  off."  And  Thekla  climbed  on  my  lap 
and  kissed  me,  while  Nix  stood  on  his  hind-legs  and  barked, 
evidently  thinking  it  was  a  great  occasion.  So  that  two 
of  the  family  at  least  have  given  their  consent. 

But  none  of  the  family  know  yet  what  Herr  Reichcu- 
■  ach  said  to  me  when  we  stood  for  a  few  minutes  by  tho 
\s  indow,  before  he  left  this  evening,     He  said, — 

"  Else,  it  is  God  who  gives  me  this  joy.  Ever  since  the 
evening  when  you  all  arrived  at  Wittenberg,  and  I  saw 
you  tenderly  helping  the  aged  and  directing  the  young 
ones,  and  never  flurried  in  all  the  bustle,  but  always  at 
leisure  to  thank  any  one  for  any  little  kindness,  or  to  help 
any  one  out  of  any  little  difficulty,  I  thought  you  were  the 
light  of  this  home,  and  I  prayed  God  one  day  to  maka 
you  the  light  of  mine." 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


«33 


Ah!  that  shows  liow  love  veils  people's  faults  j  hnt  h« 
dii  not  know  Fritz,  and  not  much  of  Eva.  Tlu.y  "wero 
the  true  sunshine  of  our  home.  However,  at  all  events, 
with  God's  help,  I  Avill  do  my  very  best  to  make  Herr 
Reichenbach's  home  bright. 

But  the  best  of  all  is,  I  am  not  afraid  to  accept  this 
blessing.  I  believe  it  is  God,  out  of  his  inexpressible  love, 
as  Dr,  Luther  says,  who  has  given  it  me,  and  I  am  not 
afraid  he  will  think  me  too  happy. 

Before  I  had  Dr.   Luther  for  my  confessor,  I  should 
never  have  known  if  it  was  to  be  a  blessing  or  a  curse 
but  now  I  am  not  afraid.     A  chain  seems  to  have  dropped 
from  my  heart,  and  a  veil  from  my  eyes,  and  I  can  call 
God  Father,  and  take  everything  fearlessly  from  him. 

And  I  know  Gottfried  feels  the  same.  Since  I  never 
had  a  vocation  for  the  higher  religious  life,  it  is  an  especial 
mercy  for  me  to  have  found  a  religion  which  enables  a 
poor  every-day  maiden  in  the  world  to  love  God  and  to 
seek  his  blessing, 

June. 

OUIv  mother  has  been  full  of  little  tender  apologies  to 
me  this  week,  for  having  called  Gottfried  (Herr 
Reichenbach  says  I  am  to  call  him  so)  old,  and  bald,  and 
ittle.  and  grave. 

''You  know,  darling,  I  only  meant  I  did  not  want  you 
to  accept  him  for  our  sakes.  And  after  all,  as  you  say,  he 
is  scarcely  bald ;  and  they  say  all  men  who  think  much 
lose  their  hair  early ;  and  I  am  sure  it  is  no  advantage  to 
be  always  talking ;  and  every  one  cannot  be  as  tall  as  our 
Fritz  and  Christoj^her." 

"And  after  all,  dear  mother,"  said  the  grandmother, 
"  Else  did  not  choose  Herr  Reichenbach  for  your  sakes ;  but 
arc  you  quite  sure  he  did  not  choose  Else  for  her  father's 
gakeV     He  was  always  so  interested  in  the  steam-pump!" 

My  mother  and  I  are  much  cheered  by  seeing  the  quiet 


23+ 


TEE  SCHONBERG-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  7. 


influence  Herr  Reichenbach  seems  to  have  over  Christo 
plier,  whose  companions  and  late  hours  have  often  caused 
us  anxiety  hitely.  Christopher  is  not  distrustful  of  him, 
because  he  is  no  priest,  and  no  great  favourer  of  monkg 
•and  convents  ;  and  he  is  not  so  much  afraid  of  Christopher 
as  we  timid,  anxious  women,  were  beginning  to  be.  He 
thinks  there  is  good  metal  in  him ;  and  he  says  the  best 
ore  cannot  look  like  gold  until  it  is  fused.  It  is  so  diffi* 
cult  for  us  women,  who  have  to  watch  from  our  quiet 
homes  afar,  to  distinguish  the  glow  of  the  smelting  furnace 
from  the  glare  of  a  conflagration. 

"Wittenberg,  September^  1513. 

THIS  morning,  Herr  Reichenbach,  Christopher,  and 
Ulrich  A^on  Gersdorf  (who  is  studying  here  for  a 
time),  came  in  full  of  excitement,  from  a  discussion  they 
had  been  hearing  between  Dr.  Luther  and  some  of  the 
doctors  and  professors  of  Erfurt. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  quite  clearly  understand  what  it 
was  about ;  but  they  seem  to  think  it  of  great  importance. 

Our  house  has  become  rather  a  gathei'ing-place  of  late ; 
partly,  I  think,  on  account  of  my  father's  blindness,  which 
always  insm-es  that  there  will  be  some  one  at  home. 

It  seems  that  Dr.  Luther  attacks  the  old  methods  of 
teaching  in  the  universities,  which  makes  the  older  jjrofes- 
sors  look  on  him  as  a  dangerous  innovator,  Avhile  the  young 
delight  in  him  as  a  hero  fighting  their  battles.  And  yet 
the  authorities  Dr.  Luther  wishes  to  re-instate  are  older 
than  those  he  attacks.  He  demands  that  nothing  shall 
be  received  as  the  standard  of  theological  truth  except 
the  Holy  Scriptures.  I  cannot  understand  why  there 
should  1)6  so  much  conflict  about  this,  because  I  thought 
all  we  believed  was  founded  on  the  Holy  Scriptures.  I 
suppose  it  is  not;  but  if  not,  on  whose  authoiity  ?  I  must 
*.sk  Gottfried  this  one  day  when  we  are  alone. 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


»ss 


The  discussion  to-day  was  between  Dr.  AndrcAV  Boden* 
itein,  Archdeacon  of  Wittenberg,  Dr.  Luther,  and   Di 
Todocus  of  Eisenach,  called  Trutvetter,  his  old   teacher 
Dr.  Carlstadt  himself,  they  said,  seemed  quite  conAdnced ; 
and  Dr.  Todocus  was  silenced,  and  is  going  back  to  Erfurt 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  students  is  great.  The  great 
point  of  Dr.  Luther's  attack  seems  to  be  Aristotle,  whc 
was  a  heathen  Greek.  I  cannot  think  why  these  Church 
doctors  should  be  so  eager  to  defend  him ;  but  Herr  Rei- 
chenbach  says  all  the  teaching  of  the  schools  and  all  the 
doctrine  of  indulgences  are  in  some  way  founded  on  this 
.\ristotle,  and  that  Dr.  Luther  wants  to  clear  away  every- 
thing which  stands  as  a  screen  between  the  students  and 
the  Bible. 

Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  said  that  our  doctor  debates  like 
his  uucle,  Franz  von  Sukingen,  fights.  He  stands  like  a 
rock  on  some  point  he  feels  firm  on ;  and  then,  Avhen  his 
opponents  are  weary  of  trying  to  move  him,  he  rushes 
suddenly  down  on  them,  and  sweeps  them  away  like  a 
torrent. 

"But  his  great  secret  seems  to  be,  remarked  Christo- 
pher, "that  he  believes  every  word  he  says.  He  speaks 
like  other  men — works  as  if  every  stroke  Avere  to  tell." 

And  Gottfried  said,  quietly,  "  He  is  fighting  the  battle 
of  God  with  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  of  our  days ;  and 
whether  he  triumph  or  perish,  the  battle  Avill  be  won.  It 
is  a  battle,  not  merely  against  falsehood,  but  for  truth,  to 
keep  a  position  he  has  won." 

"When  I  hear  him,"  said  LTlrich,  "I  wish  my  student 
days  over,  and  long  to  be  in  the  old  castle  in  the  Thurin- 
gian  forest,  to  give  everything  good  there  a  new  impulse. 
He  makes  me  feel  the  way  to  fight  the  world's  great  bat- 
tles m  for  each  to  conquer  the  enemies  of  God  in  his  own 
heart  and  home.  He  speaks  of  Aristotle  and  Augustine; 
but  he  makes  me  tliirk  of  the  sloth  and  tyranny  in  the 


236  THE  SCEONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

castle,  and  the  misery  and  oppression  in  the  peasant's  hut, 
which  are  to  me  Avhat  Aristotle  and  the  schoolmen  are  to 
him." 

"  And  I,"  said  Christopher,  "  when  he  speaks,  think  of 
our  printing-press,  imtil  my  daily  toil  there  seems  the 
highest  work  I  could  do ;  and  to  be  a  printer,  and  wing 
Buch  Avords  as  his  through  the  world,  the  noblest  thing  on 
Rarth." 

"But  his  lectures  fight  the  good  fight  even  more  than 
his  disputations,"  remarked  Gottfried.  "  In  these  debates 
he  clears  the  world  of  the  foe ;  but  in  his  explanations  of 
the  Psalms  and  the  Romans,  he  carries  the  battle  within, 
and  clears  the  heart  of  the  lies  which  kept  it  back  from 
God.  In  his  attacks  on  Aristotle,  he  leads  you  to  the 
Bible  as  the  one  source  of  truth  ;  in  his  discourses  on  jus- 
tification by  faith,  he  leads  you  to  God  as  the  one  source 
of  holiness  and  joy." 

"  They  say  j^oor  Dr.  Todocus  is  quite  ill  with  vexation 
at  liis  defeat,"  said  Christopher ;  "  and  that  there  are  many 
bitter  things  said  against  Dr.  Luther  at  Erfurt." 

"  What  does  that  matter,"  rejoined  Ulrich,  "  since  Wit- 
tenberg is  becoming  every  month  more  thronged  with 
students  from  all  parts  of  Germany,  and  the  Augustinian 
cloister  is  already  full  of  young  monks,  sent  hither  from 
various  convents,  to  study  under  Dr.  Luther?  The  youth 
and  vigour  of  the  nation  are  with  us.  Let  the  dead  bury 
heir  dead." 

"Ah,  children,"  murmured  the  grandmother,  looking 
up  from  her  knitting,  "  that  is  a  funeral  procession  that 
lasts  long.  The  young  always  speak  of  the  old  as  if  they 
had  been  born  old.  Do  you  think  our  hearts  never  throb- 
bed high  Avith  hope,  and  that  we  never  fought  with  drag- 
ons? Yet  the  old  serpent  is  not  killed  yet.  Nor  will  he 
be  dead  when  we  are  dead,  and  you  are  old,  and  your 
grandchildren  take  their  place  in  the  old  fight,  and  think 


ELSE'S  STORY.  ajy 

Uiey  are  fighting  the  first  battle  the  world  l.as  seen,  and 
vanquishing  the  last  enemy." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Gottfried ;  "  but  the  last  cnenij 
will  be  overcome  at  last,  and  who  knows  how  soon  ?" 

"WiTTEiNBEKG,  Octoher,  1513. 

[T  is  a  strong  bond  of  union  between  Herr  Reichenbacb 
and  me,  our  reverence  and  love  for  Dr.  Luther. 

He  is  lecturing  noAV  on  the  Romans  and  the  Psalms,  and 
1?  I  sit  at  my  spinning- wiieel,  or  sew,  Gottfried  often  reads 
to  me  notes  from  these  lectures,  or  tells  me  w^hat  they 
have  been  about.  This  is  a  comfort  to  me  ako,  because 
he  has  many  thoughts  and  doubts  which,  were  it  not  for 
his  friendship  wath  Dr.  Luther,  would  make  me  tremble 
for  him.  They  are  so  new  and  strange  to  me ;  and  as  it  is, 
I  never  venture  to  speak  of  them  to  my  mother. 

He  thinks  there  is  great  need  of  reformations  an^i 
changes  in  the  Church.  He  even  thinks  Christopher  not 
fir  from  right  in  his  dislike  of  many  of  the  priests  and 
monks,  who,  he  says,  lead  lives  which  are  a  disgrace  to 
Christendom. 

But  his  chief  detestation  is  the  sale  of  indulgences,  now 
preached  in  many  of  the  towns  of  Saxony,  by  Dr.  Tetzel. 
He  says  it  is  a  shameless  traffic  in  lies,  and  that  most  men 
of  intelligence  and  standing  in  the  great  cities  think  so. 
And  he  tells  me  that  a  very  good  man,  a  professor  of 
theology — Dr.  John  Wesel — preached  openly  against  thera 
about  fifty  years  ago  at  the  University  of  Erfurt,  and  after- 
wards at  Woi-ms  and  Mainz ;  and  that  John  of  Goch  and 
other  holy  men  were  most  earnest  in  denouncing  them. 

And  when  1  asked  if  the  Pope  did  not  sanction  them,  he 
said  that  to  understand  what  the  Pope  is  one  needs  to  g(» 
to  P.ome.  He  went  there  in  his  youth,  not  on  pilgrimage, 
bat  on  mercantile  business,  and  he  told  me  that  the  wicked- 
ness he  saw  there,  especially  in  the  family  of  the  reigning 


2j8  TUE  SCHONBEIiQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

ro]>e,  tlie  Borgia,  for  many  years  made  hira  hate  the  very 
name  of  religion.  Indeed,  he  said  it  was  principally 
through  Dr.  Luther  that  he  had  begun  again  to  feel  there 
could  be  a  religion,  which,  instead  of  being  a  cloak  for  sin, 
ehould  be  an  incentive  to  holiness. 

He  says  also  that  I  have  been  quite  mistaken  about 
'*  Reincke  Fuchs ;"  that  it  is  no  vulgar  jest-book,  mocking 
At  really  sacred  things,  but  a  bitter,  earnest  satire  against 
the  hypocrisy  which  practices  all  kinds  of  sins  in  the  name 
of  sacred  things. 

He  doubts  even  if  the  Calixtines  and  Hussites  are  as 
bad  as  they  have  been  represented  to  be.  It  alarms  me 
sometimes  to  hear  him  say  these  things.  His  world  is  so 
much  larger  than  mine,  it  is  difficult  for  my  thoughts  to 
follow  him  into  it.  If  the  world  is  so  bad,  and  there  is  so 
much  hypocrisy  in  the  holiest  places,  perhaps  I  have  been 
hard  on  poor  Christopher  after  all. 

But  if  Fritz  has  found  it  so,  how  unhappy  it  must  mako 
him! 

Can  really  religious  people  like  Fritz  and  Eva  Jo  noth- 
ing better  for  the  world,  but  leave  it  and  grow  rb>  jre  and 
more  corrupt  and  unbelieving,  while  they  sit  apart  i//  Aveave 
their  robes  of  sanctity  in  convents.  It  does  seem  time  for 
something  to  be  done.     I  wonder  who  will  do  it? 

I  thought  it  might  be  the  Pope ;  but  Gottfried  shakes 
his  head,  and  says,  "  No  good  thing  can  begin  at  Rome." 

"  Or  the  prelates  ?"  I  asked  one  day. 

"  They  are  too  intent,"  he  said,  "  on  making  their  courts 
as  ra  ignificent  as  those  of  the  princes,  to  be  able  to  inter" 
fere  with  the  abuses  by  which  their  revenues  are  voAUh 
tained." 

"  Or  the  princes  ?" 

"The  friendship  of  the  prelates  is  loo  imporLmt  t4: 
vtiem,  for  them  to  interfere  in  spiritual  matters." 

'*  Or  the  emperor  ?" 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


ns 


•'  TfiC  emperor,"  he  said,  "  has  enough  to  (lo  to  hold  hij 
own  against  tlie  princes,  the  prelates,  and  tl*  e  pope." 

"Or  tlie  knights?" 

"  The  knights  are  at  war  Avith  all  the  world,"  he  re« 
plied  ;  "  to  say  nothing  of  their  ceaseless  private  fends  with 
each  other.  With  the  peasants  rising  on  one  side  in  wild 
insurrection,  the  great  nobles  contending  f  gainst  their 
piivileges  on  the  other,  and  the  great  burgher  fajnilies 
tiirowing  their  barbarous  splendour  into  the  shade  as  much 
as  the  city  palaces  do  their  bare  robber  castles,  the  knighta 
anvi  petty  nobles  have  little  but  bitter  M'ords  to  spare  for 
the  abuses  of  the  clergy.  Besides,  most  of  them  have 
relations  whom  thsy  hoi)e  to  provide  for  with  some  good 
abbey." 

"  Then  the  peasants  !"  I  suggested.  "  Did  not  the  gos- 
pel  first  take  root  among  peasants  ?" 

•'  Inspired  peasants  and  fishermen,"  he  replied,  thought- 
fully. "  Peasants  who  had  walked  up  and  down  the  land 
three  years  in  the  presence  of  the  Master.  But  who  is  to 
teach  our  peasants  now  ?     They  caimot  read !" 

"  Tlien  it  must  be  the  burghers,"  I  said. 

"Each  maybe  prejudiced  in  favour  of  his  order,"  hv 
replied,  with  a  smile ;  *'  but  I  think  if  better  days  dawn,  it 
will  be  through  the  cities.  There  the  new  learning  takes 
root ;  there  the  rich  have  society  and  cultivation,  and  tlie 
poor  h.'.ve  teachers ;  and  men's  minds  are  brightened  by 
contact  and  debate,  and  there  is  leisure  to  think  and  free* 
dom  to  speak.  If  a  reformation  of  abuses  were  to  begin, 
]  think  the  burghers  would  promote  it  most  of  all." 

"  But  who  is  to  begin  it  ?"  I  asked.  "  Has  no  one  eve» 
tried  ?" 

"Many  have  tried,"  he  replied,  sadly;  "and  many  havt> 
perished  in  trying.  Wliile  they  were  assailing  one  abus-i, 
others  Avere  increasing.  Or  while  they  endeavoured  no 
heal  some  open  wound,  some  one  arose  and  declared  tt'^ 


a^o  THE  SCnONBERO-  C  0 TTA  FAMIL  T. 

It  "was  im])Ossn)Ie  to  separate  the  disease  from  the  who.e 
frame,  and  that  they  were  attemi)ting  the  life  of  our  Holy 
Mother  the  Church." 

"Who,  then,  will  venture  to  begin?"  I  said.  "Can  it 
be  Dr.  Luther?  He  is  bold  enough  to  venture  anything; 
an  1  since  he  has  done  so  much  good  to  Fritz,  and  to  you, 
and  to  me,  why  not  to  the  whole  Church?" 

"  Dr.  Luther  is  faithful  enough,  and  bold  enough  for 
anything  his  conscience  calls  him  to,"  said  Gottfried  ;  "  but 
he  is  occupied  with  saving  men's  souls,  not  with  reforming 
ecclesiastical  abuses," 

"  But  if  the  ecclesiastical  abuses  came  to  interfere  with 
the  salvation  of  men's  souls,"  I  suggested,  "  what  would 
Dr.  Luther  do  then?" 

"  We  should  see,  Else,"  said  Gottfried.  "  If  the  wolves 
attacked  one  of  Dr.  Luther's  sheep,  I  do  not  think  he 
would  care  with  what  weapon  he  rescued  it,  or  at  what 
risk." 


XII. 


EVA'S    STORY 


NiMPTSCHEN,  1517. 

[RE AT  changes  have  taken  place  dnring  these 
last  three  years  in  Aunt  Cotta's  home.  Else 
has  been  married  more  than  two  years,  and 
sends  me  wonderful  narratives  of  the  beauty 
and  wisdom  of  her  little  Margarethe,  Avho  begins  now  to 
lisp  the  names  of  mother  and  father  and  aunts.  Else  has 
also  taught  the  little  creature  to  kiss  her  hand  to  a  picture 
they  have  of  me,  and  call  it  Cousin  Eva.  They  will  not 
adopt  ray  convent  name. 

Chriemhild  also  is  betrothed  to  the  young  knight,  Ulricb 
von  Gersdorf,  who  has  a  castle  in  the  Thuringian  Forest; 
and  she  writes  that  they  oftt<n  speak  of  Sister  Ave,  and 
that  he  keeps  the  dried  violets  still,  with  a  lock  of  his 
nu>thor's  hair  and  a  relic  of  his  patron  saint.  Chriemhild 
says  I  should  scarcely  know  him  again,  he  is  become  so 
earnest  and  so  wise,  and  so  full  of  good  purposes. 

A  ud  little  Thekla  writes  that  she  also  understands  some- 
thing of  Latin.  Else's  husband  has  taught  her;  and  there 
is  nothing  Elst  and  Gottfried  Reichenbach  like  so  much 
as  to  hear  her  sing  the  hymns  Cousin  Eva  used  to  sing. 

They  seem  to  think  of  me  as  a  kind  of  angel  sister,  who 
was  early  taken  to  God,  and  will  never  grow  old.     It  ifl 
n  (241) 


a42  THE  SCnONBEliO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

very  sweet  to  be  remembered  thus  ;  bat  sometimes  it 
geems  as  if  it  were  hardly  me  they  wei  e  remembering  oi 
loving,  but  what  I  Avas  or  might  have  been. 

Would  they  recognise  Cousin  Eva  in  the  grave,  quiet 
woman  of  twenty-two  I  have  become  ?  For  whilst  in  tlie 
old  home  Time  seems  to  mark  his  course  like  a  stream  by 
growth  and  life,  here  in  the  convent  he  seems  to  mark  it 
only  by  the  slow  falling  of  the  shadow  on  the  silent  dial — 
the  shadow  of  death.  In  the  convent  there  is  no  growth 
but  growing  old. 

In  Aunt  Cotta's  home  the  year  expanded  from  winter 
into  spring,  and  summer,  and  autumn — seed-time  and  har- 
vest— the  season  of  flowers  and  the  season  of  fruits.  The 
seasons  grew  into  each  other,  we  knew  not  how  or  when. 
In  the  convent  the  year  is  sharply  divided  into  December, 
January,  February,  March,  and  April,  with  nothing  to 
distinguish  one  month  from  another  but  their  names  and 
dates. 

In  our  old  home  the  day  bi'ighteued  from  dawn  to  noon, 
and  then  mellowed  into  sunset,  and  softly  faded  into  night. 
Here  in  the  convent  the  day  is  separated  into  hours  by  the 
clock. 

Sister  Beatrice's  poor  faded  face  is  slowly  becoming  a 
little  more  faded  ;  Aunt  Agnes's  a  little  more  worn  and 
sharp ;  and  I,  like  the  rest,  am  six  years  older  than  I  was 
six  years  ago,  when  I  came  here  ;  and  that  is  all. 

It  is  true,  fresh  novices  have  arrived,  and  have  taken  tho 
irrevocable  vows,  and  fair  young  faces  are  around  me  ;  but 
my  heart  aches  sometimes  when  I  look  at  them,  and  think 
that  they,  like  the  rGst  of  us,  have  closed  the  door  on  life, 
with  all  its  changes,  and  have  entered  on  that  monotonous 
pathway  to  the  grave  whose  stages  are  simply  growing 
old. 

Some  of  these  novices  come  full  of  high  aspirations  for  a 
religious  life.     They  have  been  told  about  the  heavenly 


EVA'S  STORY. 


243 


Spouse,  TV  ho  will  fill  their  consecrated  hearts  with  pure, 
unutterable  joys,  the  world  can  never  know. 

Many  come  as  sacrifices  to  family  poverty  or  famil} 
pride,  because  their  noble  parents  are  too  poor  to  main 
lain  them  suitably,  or  in  order  that  their  fortunes  may 
swell  the  dower  of  some  married  sister. 

1  know  what  disappointment  is  before  them  when  they 
learn  that  the  convent  is  but  a  poor,  childish  mimicry  of 
the  world,  with  its  petty  ambitions  and  rivalries,  but  with 
out  the  life  and  the  love.  I  know  the  noblest  will  suflfe' 
most,  and  may,  perhaps,  fall  the  lowest. 

To  narrow,  apathetic  natures,  the  icy  routine  of  habil 
will  more  easily  replace  the  varied  flow  of  life.  They  will 
fit  into  their  harness  sooner,  and  become  as  much  interested 
in  the  gossip  of  the  house  or  the  order,  the  election  of 
superiors,  or  the  scandal  of  some  neighbouring  nunnery, 
as  they  would  have  become  in  the  gossip  of  the  town  or 
village  they  would  ha\'e  lived  in,  in  the  world. 

But  warm  hearts  and  high  spirits — these  will  chafe  and 
Btruggle,  and  dream  they  have  reached  depths  of  self 
abasement  or  soared  to  heights  of  mystical  devotion,  and 
then  awake,  with  bitter  self-reproaches,  to  find  themselves 
too  weak  to  cope  with  some  small  temptation,  like  Aunt 
Agnes. 

These  I  will  help  all  I  can.  But  I  have  learned,  since  I 
came  to  Nimptschen,  that  it  is  a  terrible  and  perilous  thing 
to  take  the  work  of  the  tiaining  of  our  souls  out  of  God's 
hands  into  our  own.  The  pruning-knife  in  his  hands  must 
sometimes  wound  and  seem  to  impoverish  ;  but  in  ours  it 
cuts,  and  wounds,  aud  impoverishes,  and  does  noi  prune. 
We  can,  indeed,  inflict  pain  on  ourselves  ;  but  God  alone 
can  make  pain  healing,  or  suffering  discipline. 

I  can  only  pray  that,  however  mistaken  many  may  be  in 
immuring  themselves  here,  Thou  who  art  the  Good  Phy- 
sician will  take  us,  with  all  our  useless  self-inflicted  wounds. 


£44  THE  SGHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

and  ar  our  "wasted,  self-stunted  faculties,  and  as  we  ara 
and  as  thou  art,  still  train  us  for  thyself. 

The  infirmary  is  what  interests  me  most.  Having  se- 
cluded ourselves  from  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  and  vicissi- 
tudes of  common  life,  Ave  seem  scarcely  to  have  left  any. 
thing  in  God's  hands,  wherewith  to  try  our  foith  and 
subdue  our  wills  to  his,  except  sickness.  Bereavements 
we  cannot  know  Avho  have  bereaved  ourselves  of  all  com- 
panionship with  our  beloved  for  evermore  on  earth.  Nor 
can  we  know  the  trials  either  of  poverty  or  of  prosperity, 
since  we  can  never  experience  either ;  but,  having  taken 
the  vow  of  voluntary  poverty  on  ourselves,  whilst  we  can 
never  call  anything  individually  our  own,  we  are  freed 
from  all  anxieties  by  becoming  members  of  a  richly-en- 
dowed order. 

Sickness  only  remains  beyond  our  control ;  and,  there- 
fore, when  I  see  any  of  the  sisterhood  laid  on  the  bed  of 
suffering,  I  think — 

"  God  has  laid  thee  there  /"  and  I  feel  more  sure  that  it  is 
the  right  thing. 

I  still  instruct  the  novices ;  but  sometimes  the  dreary 
question  comes  to  me — 

"  For  lohat  am  I  instructing  them  ?" 

Life  has  no  future  for  them — only  a  monotonous  pro-' 
longing  of  the  monotonous  present. 

I  try  to  feel,  "  I  am  training  them  for  eternity."  But 
who  can  do  that  but  God,  who  inhabiteth  eternity,  and 
Bees  the  links  which  connect  every  moment  of  the  little 
circles  of  time  with  the  vast  circumference  of  the  everlas*^- 
ing  future? 

But  I  do  my  best.  Catharine  von  Bora,  a  young  girl 
of  sixteen,  who  has  lately  entered  the  convent,  interests 
me  deeply.  There  is  such  strength  in  her  character  aud 
Bucli  warmth  in  her  heart.  But  alas  !  what  eoope  is  ther<? 
for  these  here] 


EVA'S  STOBT.  145 

Aunt  Agnes  has  mt  opened  her  heart  in  any  way  tf>  me. 
True,  when  I  was  ill,  she  Avatched  over  me  as  tenderly  as 
Aunt  CoUa  ccukl ;  but  when  I  recovered,  she  seemed  to 
repel  all  lu'-cnonstrations  of  gratitude  and  afiection,  and 
went  en  'unth  that  round  of  penances  and  disciplines,  wnich 
mako  the  nuns  reverence  her  as  so  especially  saintly. 

Sometimes  I  look  with  longing  to  the  smoke  and  lights 
in  the  village  we  can  see  among  the  trees  from  the  upper 
windows  of  the  convent.  I  know  that  each  little  wreath 
of  smoke  comes  from  the  hearth  of  a  home  where  there  are 
father  and  mother  and  little  children;  and  the  smoke 
wreaths  seem  to  me  to  rise  like  holy  clouds  of  incense  to 
God  our  Father  in  heaven. 

But  the  alms  given  so  liberally  by  the  sisterhood  are 
given  at  the  con»^ent-gate,  so  that  we  never  form  any  closer 
connection  with  the  poor  around  us  than  that  of  beggars 
and  almoners  ;  and  I  long  to  be  their  friend. 

Sometimes  I  am  afraid  I  acted  in  impatient  self-will  in 
leavino-  Aunt  Cotta's  home,  and  that  I  should  have  served 
God  better  by  remaining  there,  and  that,  after  all,  my  de- 
parture may  have  left  some  little  blank  it  would  not  have 
been  useless  to  fill.  As  the  girls  marry.  Aunt  Cotta  might 
have  found  me  a  comfort ;  and,  as  "  Cousin  Eva,"  I  might 
]>erhaps  have  been  more  of  a  help  to  Else's  children  than 
I  can  be  to  the  nuns  here  as  Sister  Ave.  But  whatever 
might  have  been,  it  is  impatience  and  rebellion  to  think  of 
that  now ;  and  nothing  can  separate  me  from  God  and  his 
love. 

Somehow  or  other,  however,  even  the  "  Theologia  Ger- 
manica,"  and  the  high,  disinterested  communion  with  God 
it  teaches,  seemed  sweeter  to  me,  in  the  intervals  of  an 
interrupted  and  busy  life,  than  as  the  business  of  this  unin- 
terrupted leisure.  Tlie  hours  of  contemplation  were  more 
blessed  for  the  very  trials  and  occupations  \«hich  seemed 
to  hinder  them. 


nAtt  THE  SGBdNBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  my  heart  also  were  freeziig,  and 
becoming  set  and  hard.  I  am  afraid,  indeed,  it  would, 
were  it  not  for  poor  Sister  Beatrice,  Avho  has  had  a  para- 
lytic stroke,  and  is  now  a  constant  inmate  of  the  infirmary. 
Slu  speaks  at  times  very  incoherently,  and  cannot  think  at 
any  time  connectedly.  But  I  have  found  a  book  which 
interests  her;  it  is  the  Latin  Gospel  of  St.  Luke,  vrhich  I 
am  allowed  to  take  from  the  convent  library  and  translate 
to  her.  The  narratives  are  so  brief  and  simple,  she  can 
comprehend  them,  and  she  never  wearies  of  hearing  them. 
The  very  familiarity  endears  them,  and  to  me  they  aro 
always  new. 

But  it  is  very  strange  that  there  is  nothing  about  pen 
ance  or  vows  in  it,  or  the  adoration  of  the  blessed  Virgin. 
I  suppose  I  shall  find  that  in  the  other  Gospels,  or  in  the 
Epistles,  which  were  written  after  our  Lady's  assumption 
into  heaven. 

Sister  Beatrice  likes  much  to  hear  me  sing  the  hymn 
by  Bernard  of  Clugni,  on  the  perpetuity  of  joy  m  hea- 
ven :* — 

Here  brief  is  the  sighing, 
And  brief  is  the  crying, 

For  brief  is  the  life  1 
The  life  there  is  endless, 
The  joy  there  is  endless. 

And  ended  the  strife. 

What  joys  are  in  heaven  1 
To  whom  are  they  given  ? 

Ah  !  what?  and  to  whomV 
The  stars  to  the  earth-born, 
"  Best  robes"  to  the  sin-wora. 

The  crown  for  tlie  doom  I 

•  Hie  breve  vivitur,  hie  breve  plangitur,  hie  bre7C  fletur 
Non  breve  vivere,  non  brere  plangere,  retribuetur. 
O  retributio  !  stat  brevis  actio,  vita  perennis, 
O  re^ibutio  !  coelica  mausio  stat  lue  plenis, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


EVA 'S  STORY.  9tLt 

O  oonntry  the  fairest ! 
Oar  country  the  dearest. 

We  press  towards  thee  1 
O  Sion  the  golden  1 
Our  ej'es  now  are  holden, 

Tliy  light  till  we  see : 

Tliy  crystalline  ocean, 
Unvexed  by  commotion, 

Tliy  fountain  of  life  ; 
Thy  deep  peace  unspoken, 
Pure,  sinless,  unbroken, — 

Thy  peace  beyond  strife  ; 

Thy  meek  saints  all  gloriova, 
Thy  martyrs  victorious, 

Who  suffer  no  more ; 
Thy  halls  full  of  singing. 
Thy  hymns  ever  ringing 

Along  thy  safe  shore. 

Like  the  lily  for  whiteness, 
Like  the  jewel  for  brightn«««. 

Thy  vestments,  0  Bride ! 
The  Lamb  ever  with  thee. 
The  Bridegroom  is  with  '■hm,-^ 

"With  thee  to  abide  1 

We  know  not,  we  imow  nci 
All  human  words  show  not. 

The  joys  we  may  reach; 
The  mansions  preparing. 
The  joys  for  our  sharing. 

The  welcjoe  for  each. 

O  Sion  the  golden  1 
My  ej-es  still  are  hold  >n. 

Thy  light  till  I  see  ; 
And  deep  in  thy  glory, 
Unveiled  then  before  me. 

My  King,  look  on  the«! 


fS  THE  SCndNBEBO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Apnl,  1517. 

THE  whole  of  the  Angustinian  Order  in  Saxony  ha<i 
been  greatly  moved  by  the  visitation  of  Dr.  Martin 
Luther.  He  has  been  appointed  Deputy  Vicar-General  in 
the  place  of  Dr.  Staupitz,  who  has  gone  on  a  mission  to 
I  he  Netherlands,  to  collect  relics  for  the  Elector  Frederic's 
new  church  at  Wittenberg. 

Last  April  Dr.  Luther  visited  the  Monastery  of  Grin>- 
ma.  not  far  from  us ;  and  through  our  Prioress,  who  ia 
connected  with  the  Prior  of  Grimma,  we  hear  much 
about  it. 

He  strongly  recommends  the  study  of  the  Scriptures 
and  of  St.  Augustine,  in  preference  to  every  other  book, 
by  the  brethren  and  sisters  of  his  Order.  We  have  begut 
to  follow  his  advice  in  our  convent,  and  a  new  impulse 
seems  given  to  everything.  I  have  also  seen  two  beautiful 
letters  of  Dr.  Martin  Luther's,  written  to  two  brethren  of 
the  Angustinian  Order.  Both  were  written  in  April  last, 
and  they  have  been  read  by  many  amongst  us.  The  first 
was  to  Brother  George  Spenlein,  a  monk  at  Memmingen. 
It  begins,  "  In  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ."  After  speaking 
of  some  private  pecuniary  matters,  he  writes : — 

"  As  to  the  rest,  I  desire  to  know  how  it  goes  with  thy 
soul ;  whether,  weary  of  its  own  righteousness,  it  learns 
to  breathe  and  to  trust  in  the  righteousiiess  of  Christ. 
For  in  our  age  the  temptation  to  jjresumption  burns  in 
many,  and  chiefly  in  those  who  are  trying  with  all  their 
might  to  be  just  and  good.  Ignorant  of  the  righteousness 
of  God,  which  in  Christ  is  given  to  us  richly  and  without 
price,  they  seek  in  themselves  to  do  good  works,  so  that 
at  last  they  may  have  confidence  to  stand  oefore  God, 
adorned  with  merits  and  virtues, — which  is  impossible. 
Thou,  when  with  us,  wert  of  this  opinion,  and  so  wag  I, 
but  now  I  contend  against  thia  error,  alttough  I  have  not 
j-et  conquered  it. 


EVA 'S  STCSr.  «4<) 

*'  Therefore,  my  dear  brother,  learn  Christ  and  him  cru- 
cified;  learn  to  sing  to  him,  and,  despairing  of  thyself,  to 
feay  to  him,  '  Lord  Jesus,  thou  art  my  righteousness,  but  1 
am  thy  sin.  Thou  hast  taken  me  upon  thyself,  and  given 
to  me  what  is  thine ;  thou  hast  taken  on  thee  what  thou 
wast  not,  an  i  hast  given  to  me  what  I  was  not.'  Take 
care  not  to  aspire  to  such  a  purity  that  thou  shalt  no  lotger 
seem  to  thyself  a  sinner ;  for  Christ  does  not  dwell  except 
in  sinners.  For  this  he  descended  from  heaven,  where  he 
abode  with  the  just,  that  he  might  abide  with  sinners. 
Meditate  on  this  love  of  his,  and  thou  shalt  drink  in  his 
SAveet  consolations.  For  if,  by  our  labours  and  afflictions, 
we  could  attain  quiet  of  conscience,  why  did  he  die : 
Therefore,  only  in  Him,  by  a  believing  self-despair,  both 
of  thyself  and  of  thy  Avorks,  Avilt  thou  find  peace.  For 
he  has  made  thy  sins  his,  and  his  righteousness  he  has 
made  thine." 

Aunt  Agnes  seemed  to  drink  in  these  Avords  like  a  pa- 
tient in  a  raging  fever.  She  made  me  read  them  over  to 
her  again  and  again,  and  then  translate  and  copy  them ; 
and  now  she  carries  them  about  with  her  everyAvhere. 

To  me  the  Avords  that  follow  are  as  precious.  Dr.  Lu- 
ther says,  that  as  Christ  hath  borne  patiently  with  us 
Avanderers,  we  should  also  bear  with  others.  "  Prostrate 
thyself  before  the  Lord  Jesus,"  he  writes,  "  seek  all  that 
thou  lackest.  He  himself  Avill  teach  thee  all,  even  to  do 
for  others  as  he  has  done  for  thee." 

The  second  letter  Avas  to  Brother  George  Leifler  of 
Krfurt.     It  speaks  of  affliction  thus : — 

"  The  cross  of  Christ  is  divided  throughout  the  Avhole 
world.  To  each  his  jiortion  comes  in  time,  and  does  not 
fail.  Thou,  therefore,  do  not  seek  to  cast  thy  portion  from 
thee,  but  rather  receive  it  as  a  holy  relic,  to  be  enshrined, 
not  in  a  gold  or  silver  reliquary,  but  in  the  sanctuary  of  a 
golden,  that  is  a  loving  and  submiwsive  heart.  For  if  th« 
11* 


«So 


THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


wood  of  the  cross  was  so  consecrated  by  contact  witl  the 
flesh  and  blood  of  Christ  that  it  is  considered  as  the  no- 
blest of  relics,  how  much  more  are  injuries,  persecutions, 
sufferings,  and  tlie  hatred  of  men,  sacred  relics,  consecra- 
ted not  by  the  touch  of  Lis  body,  but  by  contact  with  his 
most  loving  heart  and  Godlike  will !  These  we  should 
embrace,  and  bless,  and  cherish,  since  through  him  the 
curse  is  transmuted  into  blessing,  suffering  into  glory,  the 
cross  into  joy." 

Sister  Beatrice  delights  in  these  words,  and  murmurs 
them  over  to  herself  as  I  have  explained  them  to  her. 
"Yes,  I  understand;  this  sickness,  helplessness, — all  I 
have  lost  and  suffered, — are  sacred  relics  from  my  Saviour, 
not  because  he  forgets,  but  because  he  remembers  me — 
he  remembers  me.     Sister  Ave,  I  am  content." 

And  then  she  likes  me  to  sing  her  favourite  ?.ymn  Jetu 
^%il:is  n-^moria : — 

0  Jesus  !  thy  sweet  memory 
Can  fill  the  heart  with  ecstasy ; 
But  passing  all  things  sweet  that  be, 
Thy  presence.  Lord,  to  me. 

What  hope,  0  Jesus,  thou  canst  render 
To  those  who  other  hopes  surrender  I 
To  those  who  seek  thee,  O  how  tender  I 
But  what  to  those  who  find  I 

With  Mai'y,  ere  the  morning  break. 
Him  at  tlie  sepulchre  I  seek, — 
Would  bear  him  to  my  spirit  speak 
And  see  him  with  my  heart; 

Wherever  I  may  chance  to  be. 
Thee  first  my  heart  desires  to  see; 
How  glad  when  I  discover  thee  ; 
How  bJcst  when  I  retain 


EVA'S  STOBT.  t|l 

Beyond  all  treasures  is  thy  grace ; — 
Oh,  when  wilt  thou  thy  steps  retrace. 
And  satisfy  me  with  thy  face. 

And  make  me  wholly  glad  ? 

Then  come.  Oh,  come,  thou  perfect  King, 
Of  boundless  glory,  boundless  spring ; 
Arise,  and  fullest  daylight  bring, 
Jesus,  ex]iected  long ! 

J/ay,  1517. 

AUNT  AGNES  has  spoken  to  me  at  last.  Abruptly 
anl  sternly,  as  if  more  angry  Avith  herself  than  re- 
penting or  rejoicing,  she  said  to  me  this  morning,  "  Child, 
those  words  of  Dr.  Luther's  have  searched  my  heart.  1 
have  been  trying  all  my  life  to  be  a  saint,  and  so  to  reach 
God.  And  I  have  failed  utterly.  And  now  I  learn  that 
I  am  a  sinner,  and  yet  that  God's  love  reaches  me.  The 
cross,  the  cross  of  Christ,  is  my  pathway  from  hell  to 
heaA^en.  I  am  not  a  saint.  I  shall  never  be  a  saint.  Christ 
is  the  only  Saint,  the  Holy  One  of  God ;  and  he  has  borne 
my  sins,  and  he  is  my  righteousness.  He  has  done  it  all; 
and  I  have  nothing  left  but  to  give  him  all  the  glory,  and 
to  love,  to  love,  to  love  him  to  all  eternity.  And  I  will  do 
it,"  she  added  fervently,  "  i)oor,  proud,  destitute,  and  sinful 
creature  that  I  am.     I  cannot  help  it ;  I  must." 

But  strong  and  stern  as  the  words  were,  how  changed 
Aunt  Agnes's  manner  ! — humble  and  simple  as  a  child's. 
And  as  she  left  me  for  some  duty  in  the  house,  she  kissed 
my  forehead,  and  said,  "  Ah,  child,  love  me  a  little,  if  you 
can, — not  as  a  saint,  but  as  a  poor,  sinful  old  woman,  who 
among  her  worst  sins  lias  counted  loving  thee  too  much, 
which  was  perhaps,  after  all,  among  the  least ;  love  me  a 
MtUo,  Eva.  for  ray  sister's  sake,  whom  you  love  80  much," 


s;2  THE  SCHONBERQ- BOTTA  FAMILY. 

ELSE'S     STORY. 

August,  1517 

YES,  our  little  Gretchen  is  certainly  a  remarkabla 
child.  Although  she  is  not  yet  two  years  old,  she 
knows  all  of  us  by  name.  She  tyrannizes  over  us  all,  ex 
cept  me.  I  deny  her  many  things  which  she  cries  for ; 
except  when  Gottfried  is  present,  who,  unfortunately, 
cannot  bear  to  see  her  unhappy  for  a  moment,  and  having 
(he  says)  had  his  temper  spoilt  in  infiincy  by  a  cross  nurse, 
has  no  notion  of  infant  education,  except  to  avoid  contrav 
diction.  Christopher,  Avho  always  professed  a  supreme 
contempt  for  babies,  gives  her  rides  on  his  shoulder  in  the 
most  submissive  manner.  But  best  of  all,  I  love  to  see  her 
sitting  on  my  blind  father's  knee,  and  stroking  his  face 
with  a  kind  of  tender,  pitiful  reverence,  as  if  she  felt  there 
was  something  missing  there. 

I  have  taught  her,  too,  to  say  Fritz's  name,  when  I  show 
her  the  little  lock  I  wear  of  his  hair ;  and  to  kiss  Eva's 
picture.  I  cannot  bear  that  they  should  be  as  lost  or  dead 
to  her.  But  I  am  afraid  she  is  perplexed  between  Eva's 
portrait  and  the  picture  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  which  I  teach 
her  to  bow  and  cross  her  forehead  before ;  because  some- 
times she  tries  to  kiss  the  picture  of  Our  Lady,  and  to 
twist  her  little  fingers  into  the  sacred  sign  before  Eva's 
likeness.  However,  by-aud-by  she  will  distinguish  better. 
And  are  not  Eva  and  Fritz  indeed  our  family  saints  and 
patrons  ?  I  do  believe  their  prayers  bring  down  blessings 
on  us  all. 

For  our  family  has  been  so  much  blessed  lately !  The 
dear  mother's  face  looks  so  bright,  and  has  regained  some- 
thing of  its  old  sweet  likeness  to  the  Mother  of  Mercy. 
And  I  am  so  happy,  so  brimful  of  happiness.  And  it  cer- 
tainly does  make  me  feel  more  religious  than  I  did. 

N')t  the  home-happiness  only,  I  mean,  but  tb«t  boa* 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


253 


blei>-i/ig  ■-•f  all,  that  came  first,  before  I  knew  Miut  Gott- 
fried caiod  for  me, — the  knowledge  of  the  lovts  of  God  to 
me, — that  best  riches  of  all,  without  which  all  our  riches 
would  be  mere  cares — the  riches  of  the  treasury  of  God 
freely  opened  to  us  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 

Gottfried  is  better  than  I  ever  thought  he  was.  Per 
haps  he  really  growb  better  every  year ;  certainly  he  seems 
better  f  ni  divtrer  to  me. 

Chrirnj  uld  and  Ulrich  are  to  be  married  very  soon,  fle 
is  gone  no  v  to  see  Franz  von  Sickingen,  and  his  other  re 
iutijis  ill  1  le  tlhineland,  and  to  make  arrangements  con- 
nected wit.i  his  marriage.  Last  year  Chriemhild  and 
Atlantis  stayed  some  weeks  at  the  old  castle  in  the  Thu- 
ringian  Forest,  near  Eisenach.  A  wild  life  it  seemed  to 
be,  from  iheir  description,  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  forest 
in  a  lone)/  fortress  on  a  rock,  with  only  a  few  peasants' 
huts  in  s^ght;  and  with  all  kinds  of  strange  legends  of 
demon  hintsroyn,  and  elves,  and  sprites  haunting  the 
neighbourhood.  To  me  it  seems  almost  as  desolate  as  the 
wilderness  where  John  the  Baptist  lived  oh  locusts  and 
wild  honey;  but  Chriemhild  thought  it  delightful.  She 
made  acquuintance  with  some  of  the  poor  peasants,  and 
they  seemed  to  think  her  an  angel, — an  opinion  (Atlantis 
Bays)  shared  by  Ulrich's  old  uncle  and  aunt,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  Ulriijh  himself.  At  first  the  aged  Aunt  Hermen- 
trude  was  r.ither  distant ;  but  on  the  Schonberg  pedigree 
having  beeiv  duly  tested  and  approved,  the  old  lady  at 
length  consit-lered  herself  free  to  give  vent  to  her  feelings, 
whilst  the  old  knight  courteously  protested  that  he  had 
always  seen  Chriemhild's  pedigree  in  her  face. 

And  Ulrich  says  there  is  one  great  advantage  in  the 
solitude  and  strength  of  his  castle, — he  ?ould  offer  an  asy- 
lum at  any  time  to  Dr.  Luther,  who  has  of  late  become  an 
object  of  bitter  hatred  to  some  of  the  priests. 

Dr.  Luther  is  mrst  kind  to  our  little  Gretchen,  whom 


«54 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


he  baptized.  He  says  little  children  often  understan<l  Gofl 
better  than  the  "wisest  doctors  of  divinity. 

Thekla  has  experienced  her  first  sorrow.  Her  poor  little 
foundling,  Nix,  is  dead.  For  some  days  the  poor  creature 
had  been  ailing,  and  at  last  he  lay  for  some  hours  quiver- 
ing, as  if  "svith  inward  convulsions ;  yet  at  Thekla's  voice 
the  dull,  glassy  eyes  would  brighten,  and  he  would  wag 
his  tail  feebly  as  he  lay  on  his  side.  At  last  he  died ;  and 
Thekla  was  not  to  be  comforted,  but  sat  apart  and  she<l 
bitter  tears.  The  only  thing  which  cheered  her  was  Chris, 
topher's  making  a  grave  in  the  garden  for  Nix,  under  the 
pear  tree  where  I  used  to  sit  at  embroidery  in  summer,  as 
now  she  does.  It  was  of  no  use  to  try  to  laugh  her  out  of 
her  distress.  Her  lip  quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  if  any  one  attempted  it.  Atlantis  spoke  seriously  to 
her  on  the  duty  of  a  little  girl  of  twelve  beginning  to  put 
away  childish  things ;  and  even  the  gentle  mother  tenderly 
remonstrated,  and  said  one  day,  when  Dr.  Luther  had 
asked  her  for  her  favourite,  and  had  been  answered  by  a 
burst  of  tears,  "  My  child,  if  you  mourn  so  for  a  dog,  what 
will  you  do  when  real  sorrows  come  ?" 

But  Dr.  Luther  seemed  to  understand  Thekla  better 
than  any  of  us,  and  to  take  her  part.  He  said  she  was  a 
child,  and  her  childish  sorrows  were  no  more  trifles  to  her 
than  our  sorrows  are  to  us ;  that  from  heaven  we  might 
probably  look  on  the  fall  of  an  empire  as  of  less  moment 
than  we  now  thought  the  death  of  Thekla's  dog  ;  yet  that 
the  angels  who  look  down  on  ns  from  heaven  do  not  de» 
spise  our  little  joys  and  sorrows,  nor  should  we  those  of 
the  little  ones  ;  or  words  to  this  eflTect.  He  has  a  strange 
sympathy  with  the  hearts  of  children.  Thekla  was  so  en- 
couraged by  his  compassion  that  she  crept  close  to  him 
and  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  said,  with  a  look  of  wistful 
earnestness,  "Will  Nix  rise  again  at  the  last  day?  WUl 
there  be  dogs  in  the  other  world?" 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


«?l 


Many  of  as  were  appalled  at  sucli  an  in-everent  idea; 
but  Dr.  Luther  did  not  seem  to  think  it  irreverent.  He 
Baid,  "  We  know  less  of  wliat  that  other  world  will  be 
tlian  this  little  one,  or  than  that  babe,"  he  added,  pointing 
to  my  little  Gretchen,  "  knows  of  the  empires  or  powera 
of  this  world.  But  of  this  we  are  sure,  the  world  to  conii 
will  be  no  empty,  lifeless  waste.  See  how  full  and  beauti 
ful  the  Lord  God  has  made  all  things  in  this  passing,  per- 
ishing world  of  heaven  and  earth  !  How  much  more  beau- 
tiful, then,  will  he  make  that  eternal,  incorruptible  world  ! 
God  will  make  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth.  All  poison- 
ous, and  malicious,  and  hurtful  creatures  will  be  banished 
thence, — all  that  our  sin  has  ruined.  All  creatures  will 
not  only  be  harmless,  but  lovely,  and  pleasant,  and  jo}^ul, 
so  that  we  might  play  Avith  them.  'The  sucking  child 
shall  play  on  the  hole  of  the  asp,  and  the  weaned  child 
Bhall  put  his  hand  on  the  cockatrice's  den.'  Why,  then, 
should  there  not  be  little  dogs  in  the  new  earth,  whose 
skin  might  be  fair 'as  gold,  and  their  hair  as  bright  as  pre- 
cious stones  ?" 

Certainly,  in  Thekla's  eyes,  from  that  moment  there  has 
been  no  doctor  of  divinity  like  Dr.  Luther. 

ToRGATT,  November  10,  1516. 

THE  plague  is  at  Wittenberg.  We  have  all  taken 
refuge  here.  The  university  is  scattered,  and  many, 
also,  of  the  Augustinian  monks. 

Dr.  Luther  remains  in  the  convent  at  Wittenberg.  We 
have  seen  a  copy  of  a  letter  of  his,  dated  the  26th  October, 
and  addressed  to  the  Venerable  Father  John  Lange,  Prioi 
of  Eifurt  Monastery. 

"  Health.  I  have  need  of  two  secretaries  or  chancellors, 
since  all  day  long  I  do  nothing  but  write  letters ;  and  1 
know  not  whether,  always  writing,  I  may  not  sometime« 
repeat  thff  same  things.     Thou  wilt  see 


i;6  THE  BCHSNBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

"  I  am  conA'ent  lecturer ;  reader  at  meals ;  I  am  desired 
\.o  be  daily  parish,  preacher ;  I  am  director  of  studies,  vicar 
ii.  e.,  prior  eleven  times  over),  inspector  of  the  fish-ponds 
at  Litzkau,  advocate  of  the  cause  of  the  people  of  Herx- 
hevg  at  Torgau,  lecturer  on  Paul  and  on  the  Psalms ;  be- 
sides what  I  have  said  already  of  my  constant  correspond- 
ence. I  have  rarely  time  to  recite  my  Canonical  Hours, 
to  say  nothing  of  my  own  particular  temptations  from  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  See  what  a  man  of  leisure 
I  am! 

"  Concerning  Brother  John  Metzel  I  believe  you  have 
already  received  my  opinion.  I  will  see,  however,  what  I 
can  do.  How  can  you  think  I  can  find  room  for  your 
Sardanapaluses  and  Sybarites  ?  If  you  have  educated  them 
ill,  you  must  bear  with  those  you  have  educated  ill.  I 
have  enough  useless  brethren ; — if,  indeed,  any  are  useless 
to  a  patient  heart.  I  am  persuaded  that  the  useless  may 
become  more  useful  than  those  who  are  the  most  useful 
now.     Therefore  bear  with  them  for  the  time. 

"  I  think  I  have  already  written  to  you  about  the  breth- 
-en  you  sent  me.  Some  I  have  sent  to  Magister  Spangen- 
burg,  as  they  requested,  to  save  their  breathing  this  pesti- 
lential air.  With  two  from  Cologne  I  felt  such  sympathy, 
and  thought  so  much  of  their  abilities,  that  I  have  retained 
them,  although  at  much  expense.  Twenty-two  priests, 
forty-two  youths,  and  in  the  university  altogether  forty- 
two  persons  are  suj^ported  out  of  our  poverty.  But  the 
Lord  will  provide. 

"  You  say  that  yesterday  you  began  to  lecture  on  the 
Sentences.  To-morrow  I  begin  the  Epistle  to  the  Gala- 
tians  ;  although  I  fear  that,  with  the  plague  among  us  as 
it  is,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  continue.  The  plague  has  taken 
away  already  two  or  three  among  us,  but  not  all  in  one 
day ;  and  the  son  of  cur  neighbour  Faber,  yesterday  in 
health,  to-day  is  dead ;  and  another  is  infected.     What 


ELSE'S  STOUT.  aC7 

jLall  I  say?  It  is  indeed  here,  and  begins  to  rage  with 
groat  cruelty  and  suddenness,  especially  among  the  young. 
You  tt'ould  persuade  me  and  Master  Bartholomew  to  take 
refuge  with  you.  Why  should  I  flee  ?  I  hope  the  world 
would  not  collapse  if  Brother  Martin  fell.  If  the  pestilence 
spreads,  I  will  indeed  disperse  the  monks  throughout  the 
land.  As  for  me,  I  have  been  placed  hero.  My  obedience 
as  a  monk  does  not  suffer  me  to  fly ;  since  what  obedience 
required  once,  it  demands  still.  Not  that  I  do  not  fear 
death — (I  am  not  the  Apostle  Paul,  but  only  the  reader  of 
the  Apostle  Paul) — but  I  hope  the  Lord  will  deliver  me 
from  my  fear. 

"Farewell;  and  be  mindful  of  us  in  this  day  of  the  "visi- 
tation of  the  Lord,  to  whom  be  glory." 

This  letter  has  strengthened  me  and  many.  Yes,  if  it 
had  been  our  duty,  I  trust,  like  Dr.  Luther,  we  should 
have  had  courage  to  remain.  The  courage  of  his  act 
strengthens  us ;  and  also  the  confession  of  fear  in  his 
words.  It  does  not  seem  a  fear  which  hath  torment,  or 
which  fetters  his  spirit.  It  does  not  even  crush  his  cheer- 
fulness. It  is  a  natural  fear  of  dying,  which  I  also  cannot 
overcome.  From  me,  then,  as  surely  from  him,  when 
God  sees  it  time  to  die.  He  will  doubtless  remove  the 
dread  of  death. 

This  season  of  the  pestilence  recalls  so  much  to  me  of 
what  happened  when  the  plague  last  visited  us  at  Eise- 
nach! 

We  have  lost  some  since  then, — if  I  ought  to  call  Eva 
and  Fritz  lost.  But  how  my  life  has  been  enriched !  My 
husband,  our  little  Gretchen ;  and  then  so  much  outward 
prosperity !  All  that  pressure  of  poverty  and  daily  care 
entirely  gone,  and  so  much  wherewith  to  help  others  I 
And  yet,  am  I  so  entirely  free  from  care  as  I  ought  to  be  ? 
4m  I  not  even  at  times  more  burdened  with  it  ? 

When  first  I  married,  and  had  Gottfried  on  whom  to 


,^8  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMIZY. 

unburden  every  perplexity,  and  riches  which  seemed  to  me 
uiexhaustible,  instead  of  poverty,  I  thought  I  should  never 
know  care  again. 

But  is  it  so  ?  Have  not  the  very  things  themselves,  in 
their  possession,  become  cares  ?  When  I  hear  of  theso 
dreadful  wars  with  the  Turks,  and  of  the  insurrections  and 
disquiets  in  various  parts,  and  look  lound  on  our  pleasant 
home,  and  gardens,  and  fields,  I  thmk  how  terrible  it  would 
be  again  to  be  plunged  into  poverty,  or  that  Gretchen  ever 
should  be ;  so  that  riches  themselves  become  cares.  It 
makes  me  think  of  what  a  good  man  once  told  me :  that 
the  word  in  the  Bible  which  is  translated  "  rich,"  in  speak- 
ing of  Abraham,  in  other  places  is  translated  "  heavy ;"  so 
that  instead  of  reading,  "  Abraham  left  Egypt  rich  in  cat- 
tle and  silver  and  gold,"  Ave  might  read  '^  heavy  in  cattle, 
silver,  and  gold." 

Yes,  we  are  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  City ;  we  are 
in  flight  from  an  evil  world;  and  too  often  riches  are 
weights  which  hinder  our  progress. 

I  find  it  good,  therefore,  to  be  here  in  the  small,  humble 
house  we  have  taken  refuge  in — Gottfried,  Gretchen,  and  I. 
The  servants  are  dispersed  elsewhere  ;  and  it  lightens  my 
heart  to  feel  how  well  we  can  do  without  luxuries  which 
were  beginning  to  seem  like  necessaries.  Doctor  Luther'g 
words  come  to  my  mind  :  "  The  covetous  enjoy  what  they 
have  as  little  as  what  they  have  not.  They  cannot  even 
rejoice  in  the  sunshine.  They  think  not  what  a  noble  gift 
the  light  is — what  an  inexpressibly  great  treasure  the  sun 
is,  which  shines  freely  on  all  the  world." 

Yes,  God's  common  gifts  are  his  most  precious ;  and  his 
most  precious  gifts — even  life  itself— have  no  root  in  them- 
selves. Not  that  they  are  without  root ;  they  are  better 
••ooted  in  the  depths  of  His  unchangeable  love. 

It  is  well  lo  be  taught,  by  such  a  visitation  even  as  this 
pestilence,  the  uttei  insecurity  of  everything  here.     "If 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


259 


the  ebip  itaelf,"  as  Gottfried  says,  "  k\  ex}*osod  to  ship- 
wreck, who,  then,  can  secure  the  cargo?"  Henceforth  )et 
me  be  content  with  the  only  security  Doctor  Luther  says 
God  Avill  give  us, — the  security  of  his  presence  and  care , 
^^  I  will  never  leave  thee,''' 

"Witte:nberct,  Jttne,  ISl?. 

WE  are  at  home  once  more  ;  and,  thank  God,  our  tv50 
liouseholds  are  undiminished,  save  by  one  death— 
that  of  our  youngest  sister,  the  baby  when  we  left  Eisen- 
ach. The  professors  and  students  also  have  returned.  Dr. 
Luther,  Avho  remained  here  all  the  time,  is  i:)reaching  with 
more  force  and  clearness. 

The  town  is  greatly  divided  in  opinion  about  him.  Dr. 
Tetzel,  the  great  Papal  Commissioner  for  the  sale  of  indul- 
gences, has  established  his  red  cross,  announcing  the  sale 
of  pardons,  for  some  months,  at  Jiiterbok  and  Zerbst,  not 
Tar  from  Wittenberg. 

Numbers  of  the  townspeople,  alarmed,  I  suppose,  by  the 
pestilence,  into  anxiety  about  their  souls,  have  repaired  to 
Dr.  Tetzel,  and  returned  with  the  purchaocd  tickets  of  in- 
dulgence. 

I  have  always  been  perplexed  as  to  what  the  indulgences 
really  give.  Christopher  has  terrible  stories  about  the 
money  paid  for  them  being  spent  by  Dr.  Tetzel  and  others 
on  taverns  and  feasts  ;  and  Gottfried  says,  "  It  is  a  bargain 
oetween  the  priests,  who  love  money,  and  the  people,  who 
Jove  sin." 

Yesterday  morning  I  saw  one  of  the  letters  of  indul' 
gence  for  the  first  time.  A  neighbour  of  ours,  the  wile 
of  a  miller,  Avhose  weights  have  been  a  little  suspected  in 
(he  town,  vas  in  a  state  of  great  indignation  when  I  went 
to  purchase  some  flour  of  her. 

"  See !"  she  said ;  "  this  Dr.  Luther  Avill  be  wiser  than 
the  Pope  himself.     He  has  refused  to  admit  my  husband 


«6o  THE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 

to  the  Holy  Saorament  unless  he  repents  and  confesses  to 
him,  although  he  took  his  certificate  in  his  hand." 

She  gave  it  to  me,  and  I  read  it.  Certainly,  if  the 
doctors  of  di\  inity  disagree  about  the  value  of  these  indul- 
gences, Dr.  Tetzel  has  no  ambiguity  nor  uncertainty  in  his 
language. 

"  I,"  says  the  letter,  "  absolve  thee  from  all  the  excesses, 
sins,  and  crimes  which  thou  hast  committed,  hovrever 
great  and  enormous  they  may  be.  I  remit  for  thee  the 
pains  thou  mightest  have  had  to  endure  in  purgatory.  I 
restore  thee  to  participation  in  the  sacraments.  T  incor- 
porate thee  afresh  into  the  communion  of  the  Church.  I 
re-establish  thee  in  the  innocence  and  purity  in  which  thou 
Avast  at  the  time  of  thy  baptism.  So  that,  at  the  moment 
of  thy  death,  the  gate  by  which  souls  pass  into  the  place 
of  torments  will  be  shut  upon  thee ;  while,  on  the  contrary, 
that  which  leads  to  the  paradise  of  joy  will  be  open  unto 
thee.  And  if  thou  art  not  called  on  to  die  soon,  this  grace 
will  remain  unaltered  for  the  time  of  thy  latter  end. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Floly  Ghost. 

"Friar  John  Tetzel,  Commissary,  has  signed 
it  with  his  own  hand." 

"  To  think,"  said  my  neighbour,  "•  of  the  pope  promising 
my  Franz  admittance  into  paradise ;  and  Dr.  Luther  will 
not  even  admit  him  to  the  altar  of  the  parish  church  ? 
And  after  spending  such  a  sum  on  it !  for  the  friar  must 
surely  have  thought  my  husbrnd  better  off  than  he  is,  oi 
he  would  not  have  demanded  gold  of  poor  struggling 
peojile  like  us." 

"  But  if  tlie  angels  at  the  gate  of  paradise  should  be  of 
Ibe  same  mind  as  Dr.  Luther  ?"  I  suggested,  "  Would  it 
lot  be  better  to  find  that  out  liere  than  there?" 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  replied  ;  "  have  we  not  the  Holj 
.  "ather's  own  word?  and  did  we  not  pay  a  who'e  golden 
florin  ?     It  if)  impossible  it  can  be  in  vain," 


ELSE'S  STOHY.  26i 

"  l*ul  the  next  florin  in  your  scales  instead  of  in  l)r, 
Tetzel's  client,  neigbbjur,"  said  a  student,  laughing,  as  he 
heard  her  loud  and  angry  words ;  "  it  may  weigh  heavier 
with  your  flour  than  against  your  sins." 

I  left  them  to  finish  the  discussion. 

Gottfried  says  it  is  quite  true  that  Dr.  Luther  in  the 
confessional  in  the  city  churches  has  earnestly  protested  to 
many  of  his  penitents  against  their  trusting  to  these  cer- 
tificates, and  has  positively  refused  to  suffer  any  to  com- 
municate, except  on  their  confessing  their  sins,  and  promis- 
ing to  forsake  them,  whether  provided  with  indulgences 
or  not. 

In  his  sermon  to  the  people  last  year  on  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments, he  told  them  forgiveness  was  freely  given  to 
the  penitent  by  God,  and  was  not  to  be  i^urchased  at  any 
price,  least  of  all  with  money. 

Wittenberg,  July  18. 

THE  whole  town  is  iii  a  ferment  to-day,  on  account  of 
Dr.  Luther's  sermon  yesterday,  preached  before  the 
Elector  in  the  Castle  church. 

The  congregation  was  very  large,  composed  of  the  court, 
students,  and  towns-people. 

Not  a  child  or  ignorant  peasant  there  but  could  undei- 
stand  the  preacher's  words.  The  Elector  had  procured 
especial  indulgences  from  the  pope  in  aid  of  his  church, 
hut  Dr.  Luther  made  no  exception  to  conciliate  him.  lie 
Baid  the  Holy  Scrii)tures  nowhere  demand  of  us  any  pen- 
alty or  satisfaction  for  our  sins.  God  gives  and  forgives 
freely  and  without  price,  out  of  his  unutterable  grace;  and 
lays  on  the  forgiven  no  other  duty  than  true  repentance 
and  sincere  conversion  of  the  heart,  resolution  to  bear  the 
cross  of  Christ,  and  do  all  the  good  we  can.  He  declared 
also  that  it  would  be  better  to  give  money  freely  towards 
the  b-.iildmg  of  St.  Peter's  Chuich  at  Rome,  than  to  bar 


zOa  THE  SCUONBEllQ-COrTA  FAMILY. 

gain  with  alms  for  indulgences ;  that  it  was  more  pleasing 
to  God  to  give  to  the  poor,  than  to  buy  these  letters, 
uhj?.li^  he  said,  would  at  the  utmost  do  nothing  more  for 
an}/  man  than  remit  mere  ecclesiastical  penances, 

1  s  Ave  returned  from  the  church  together,  Gottfried 
(mi , — 

'•  Tlie  battle-cry  is  sounded  then  at  last !  The  wolf  has 
»ssi,iled  Dr.  Luther's  own  flock,  and  the  shepherd  is 
roued.  The  battle-cry  is  sounded.  Else,  but  the  battle  ia 
Bear  jely  begun." 

A  nd  when  we  described  the  sermon  to  our  grandmother, 
she  murmured, — 

"  It  sou!ids  to  me,  children,  like  an  old  story  of  my 
childhood.  Have  I  not  heard  such  words  half  a  century 
since  in  Bohemia?  and  have  I  not  seen  the  hps  which 
spoke  them  silenced  in  flames  and  blood?  Neither  Dr. 
Luther  nor  any  of  you  know  whither  you  are  going. 
Thank  God,  I  am  soon  going  to  him  who  died  for  speaking 
just  such  words !  Thank  God  I  hear  them  again  before  I 
die !  I  have  doubted  long  abo'.t  them  and  about  every 
thing ;  how  could  1  dare  to  think  a  few  proscribed  men 
right  against  the  whole  Church?  But  since  these  old 
N\  ords  cannot  be  hushed,  but  rise  from  the  dead  again,  I 
think  there  must  be  life  in  them ;  eternal  life.  Children," 
she  concluded,  "  tell  me  when  Dr.  Luther  preaches  again ; 
I  wil  hoar  him  before  I  die,  that  I  may  tell  your  grand- 
fathei,  when  I  meet  him,  the  old  truth  is  not  dead.  I 
Link  it  would  give  him  another  joy,  even  before  the  throne 
of  God." 

Wittenberg,  August. 

C"^  IIPJSTOPIIER  has  returned  from  Jiiterbok.  He 
lA  saw  there  a  great  pile  of  burning  faggots,  which 
Dr.  Tetzel  has  caused  to  be  kindled  in  the  market-plac* 
"  to  burn  the  heretics,"  he  said. 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


a6j 


We  laughed  as  lie  related  this,  and  also  at  the  furious 
threats  and  curses  which  had  been  launched  at  Dr.  Luther 
fi-om  the  pulpit  in  front  of  the  iron  money-chest.  But  ou? 
grandmother  said,  "  It  is  no  jest,  children,  they  have  dona 
it,  and  they  will  do  it  again  yet !" 


Xlll. 


ELSE'S     SI  DRY, 


Wittenberg,  Nov.  1,  1517, 
All  Saints"  Day. 
ESTERDAY  evening,  as  T  sat  at  the  Mdndovv 
vrith  Gottfried  in  the  lale.  twihght,  hushing 
Gretchen  to  sleep,  we  notice'3  Dr.  Luther  w.ilk 
rapidly  along  the  street  towards  the  Cartle 
church.  His  step  was  firm  and  quick,  and  he  seemed  1  oo 
fall  of  thought  to  observe  anything  as  he  passed.  Thord 
vvas  something  unusual  in  his  bearing,  vMch  made  my 
husband  call  my  attention  to  him.  His  head  was  eroct 
and  slightly  thrown  back,  as  when  he  preaches.  He  bad 
a  large  packet  of  papers  in  his  hand,  and  although  he  v,  aa 
evidently  absorbed  with  some  purpose,  he  had  niore  the 
air  of  a  general  moving  to  a  battle-field  than  ol"  a  theclo- 
gian  buried  in  meditation. 

This  morning,  as  we  went  to  the  early  mass  of  the 
festival,  we  saw  a  great  crowd  gathered  around  the  doors 
of  the  Castle  church  ;  not  a  mob,  however,  but  an  oa^:;er 
throng  of  well-dressed  men,  professors,  citizens,  and  stu- 
dents ;  those  within  the  circle  reading  some  writing  which 
was  posted  on  the  door,  whilst  around,  the  crowd  -"^aa 
broken  into  little  knots,  in  eager  but  not  loud  debate 
Gottfried  asked  what  had  happened. 
C264) 


ELSE'S  STOSr.  365 

"  It  is  onl.}  some  Latin  theses  against  the  indulgences, 
i)j  Dr  Luther,"  rej)lied  one  of  the  students,  "  inviting  a 
disjiutation  on  the  subject." 

I  was  relieved  to  hear  that  nothing  Avas  the  matter,  and 
Gottfried  and  I  quietly  proceeded  to  the  service. 

"  It  is  only  an  affair  of  the  university,"  I  said.  "  I  was 
afraid  it  was  some  national  disaster,  an  invasion  of  the 
Turks,  or  some  event  in  the  Elector's  family." 

As  we  returned,  however,  the  crowd  had  increased,  and 
the  debate  seemed  to  be  becoming  warm  among  some  of 
them.  One  of  the  students  was  translatmg  the  Latin  into 
German  for  the  benefit  of  the  unlearned,  and  we  paused 
to  listen. 

What  he  read  seemed  to  me  very  true,  but  not  at  all 
remarkable.  We  had  often  heard  Dr.  Luther  say  and 
even  preach  similar  things.  At  the  moment  we  came  up 
the  words  the  student  was  reading  w^ere, — 

"  It  is  a  great  error  for  one  to  think  to  make  satisfaction 
for  his  sins,  in  that  God  always  forgives  gratuitously  and 
from  his  bomidless  grace,  requiring  nothing  in  return  but 
holy  living." 

This  sentence  I  remember  distinctly,  because  it  was  so 
much  like  what  we  had  heard  him  preach.  Other  propo- 
sitions followed,  such  as  that  it  was  very  doubtful  if  the 
indulgences  could  deliver  souls  from  purgatory,  and  that 
it  was  better  to  give  alms  than  to  buy  indulgences.  But 
why  these  statements  should  collect  such  a  crowd,  and 
excite  such  intense  interest,  I  could  not  quite  understand, 
unless  it  was  because  they  wu.'e  in  Latin. 

One  sentence,  I  observed,  aroused  very  mingled  feelings 
in  the  crowd.  It  Avas  the  declaration  that  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures alone  could  settle  any  controversy,  and  that  all  tho 
scholastic  teachers  together  could  not  give  authority  to 
one  doctrine. 

The  stulents  and  many  of  the  citizens  received  thii 
12 


266  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

announcement  with  enthusiastic  applause,  and  some  of  the 
professors  testified  a  quiet  approval  of  it ;  but  others  of 
the  doctors  shook  their  heads,  and  a  few  retired  at  onc^ 
murmuring  angrily  as  they  went. 

At  the  close  came  a  declaration  by  Dr.  Luther,  that 
whatfiver  some  unenlightened  and  morbid  people  miglit 
say,  he  was  no  heretic. 

"  Why  should  Dr.  Luther  think  it  necessary  to  conclude 
with  a  declaration  that  he  is  no  heretic  ?"  I  said  to  Gott- 
fried as  we  walked  home.  "  Can  anything  be  more  full 
of  respect  for  the  Pope  and  the  Church  than  many  of 
\hese  theses  are  ?  And  why  should  they  excite  so  much 
attention  ?  Dr.  Luther  says  no  more  Xh-^n  so  many  of  \i8 
think  !" 

"  True,  Else,"  replied  Gottfried,  gravely  ;  "  but  to  know 
how  to  say  what  other  people  only  think,  is  what  makes 
men  poets  and  sages ;  and  to  dare  to  say  what  others  only 
dare  to  think,  makes  men  martyrs  or  reformers,  or  both." 

November  20. 

IT  is  wonderful  the  stir  these  theses  make.  Christopher 
cannot  get  them  printed  fast  enough.  Both  the  Latin 
and  German  printing-presses  are  engaged,  for  they  have 
been  translated,  ana  demands  come  for  them  from  every 
part  of  Germany. 

Dr.  Tetzel,  they  say,  is  furious,  and  many  of  the  prelates 
are  uneasy  as  to  the  result ;  the  new  bishop  has  dissuaded 
Dr.  Luther  from  publishing  an  explanation  of  them.  It 
is  reported  that  the  Elector  Frederic  is  not  quite  pleased, 
fearing  the  effect  on  the  new  university,  still  in  its  infancy. 

Students,  howevei,  are  crowding  to  the  town,  and  tc 
Dr.  Luther's  lectures,  more  than  ever.  He  is  the  hero  of 
the  youth  of  Germany. 

'Jut  none  are  more  enthusiastic)  about  him  than  our 
grandmothei      She  insisted  on  be'mg  taken  to  church  di 


■UJLSE'S  8T0RT.  2*  ; 

All  Saints'  Day,  and  tottering  up  tlie  aisle  took  her  place 
immediately  mider  Dr.  Luther's  pulpit,  facinej  the  congre- 
gation. 

She  had  eyes  or  ears  for  none  but  him.  When  he  came 
doA^  u  the  pulpit  stairs  she  grasped  his  hand,  and  faltered 
out  a  broken  blessing.  And  after  she  came  home  she  sat 
a  long  time  in  silence,  occasionally  brushing  away  tears. 

When  Gottfried  and  I  took  leave  for  the  night,  she  held 
one  of  our  hands  in  each  of  hers,  and  said, — 

"  Children !  be  braver  than  I  have  been ;  that  man 
preaches  the  truth  for  which  my  husbai  d  died.  God 
sends  him  to  you.  Be  faithful  to  him.  *]  ake  heed  that 
you  forsake  him  not.  It  is  not  given  to  very  one  as  to 
me  to  have  the  light  they  forsook  in  youth  restored  to 
them  in  old  age.  To  me  his  words  are  like  voices  from 
the  dead.     They  are  worth  dying  for." 

My  mother  is  not  so  satisfied.  She  likes  what  Dr.  Lu- 
ther says,  but  she  is  afraid  what  Aunt  Agues  might  think 
of  it.  She  thinks  he  speaks  too  violently  sometimes.  She 
does  not  like  any  one  to  be  pained.  She  cannot  herself 
much  like  the  way  they  sell  the  indulgences,  but  she  hopes 
Dr.  Tetzel  means  well,  and  she  has  no  doubt  that  the  Pope 
knows  best ;  and  she  is  convinced  that  in  their  hearts  all 
good  people  mean  the  same,  only  she  is  afi'aid,  in  the  heat 
of  discussion,  every  one  Avill  go  further  than  any  one 
intends,  and  so  there  will  be  a  great  deal  of  bad  feeling. 
She  thought  it  was  quite  right  of  Dr.  Luther  quietly  to 
admonish  any  of  his  penitents  who  were  imagining  they 
could  be  saved  without  repentance  ;  but  why  he  ghould 
excite  all  the  town  in  this  way  by  these  theses  she  could 
not  understJind  ;  especially  on  All  Saints'  Day,  when  so 
many  strangers  came  from  the  country,  and  the  hoi/  relics 
were  exhibited,  and  every  one  ought  to  be  absorbfed  with 
their  devotions. 

"  Ah,  little  mother,"  said  my  father,  "  women  are  too 


268  THE .SGHONBEEG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 

tender-licarted  iov  i^loughmen's  Avork.  You  could  ne'^  ei 
bear  to  break  up  the  clods,  and  tear  up  all  the  pretty  wild 
flowers.  But  when  the  harvest  comes  we  will  set  you  to 
bind  up  the  sheaves,  or  to  glean  beside  the  reapers.  No 
rough  hands  of  men  will  do  that  so  well  as  yours." 

And  Gottfried  said  his  vow  as  doctor  of  divinity  makes 
it  as  much  Dr.  Luther's  plain  duty  to  teach  true  divinity, 
as  his  priestly  vows  oblige  him  to  guard  his  flock  from 
error  and  sin.  Gottfried  says  we  have  fallen  on  stormy 
times.  For  him  that  may  be  best,  and  by  his  side  all  is 
well  for  me.  Besides,  I  am  accustomed  to  rough  paths. 
But  when  I  look  on  our  little  tender  Gretchen,  as  her 
dimpled  cheek  rests  flushed  with  sleep  on  her  pillow, 
I  cannot  help  wishing  the  battle  might  not  begin  in  her 
time. 

Dr.  Luther  counted  the  cost  before  he  affixed  these 
theses  to  the  church  door.  It  was  this  which  made  him 
do  it  so  secretly,  without  consulting  any  of  his  friends. 
lie  knew  there  was  risk  in  it,  and  he  nobly  resolved  not 
to  involve  any  one  else — Elector,  professor,  or-  pastor — in 
the  danger  he  incurred  without  hesitation  for  himself 

OdoUr  1517. 

IN  one  thing  we  are  all  agreed,  and  that  is  in  our  delight 
in  Dr.  Luther's  lectures  on  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the 
Galatians.  Gottfried  heard  them  and  took  notes,  and 
•eported  them  to  us  in  my  father's  house.  We  gather 
around  him,  all  of  us,  in  the  winter  evenings,  while  he 
reads  those  inspiring  words  to, us.  Never,  I  thini,  were 
words  like  them.  Yesterday  he  was  reading  to  us,  for 
the  twentieth  time,  what  Dr.  Luther  said  on  the  words, 
*'  Who  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me." 

"  Read  Avith  vehemency,"  he  says,  "  those  words  '  me,' 
and  '  for  me.'  Print  this  '  me  '  in  thy  heart,  not  doubting 
that  thou  art  of  the  number  to  whom  this  '  me'  belong 


ELSE'S  STORY.  169 

cth  ;  also,  that  Christ  hath  not  only  loA'ed  Peter  and  Paul, 
and  given  himself  for  them,  but  that  the  same  grace  also 
which  is  comprehended  in  this  '  me,'  as  well  pertaineth 
and  cometh  unto  us  as  unto  them.  For  as  we  cannot 
deny  that  wo  are  all  sinners,  all  lost ;  so  we  cannot  deny 
that  Christ  died  for  our  sins.  Therefore  when  I  feel  and 
confess  myself  to  be  a  sinner,  why  should  I  not  say  that  I 
am  made  righteous  through  the  righteousness  of  Christ, 
especially  when  I  hear  He  loved  me  and  gave  himself 
for  me  ?" 

And  then  my  mother  asked  for  the  passages  she  mo^it 
delights  in  :  "  Oh  Christ,  I  am  thy  sin,  thy  curse,  thy 
wrath  of  God,  thy  hell ;  and  contrariwise,  thou  art  my 
righteousness,  my  blessing,  my  life,  my  grace  of  God,  ray 
heaven." 

And  again,  when  he  speaks  of  Christ  being  "  made  a 
curse  for  us,  the  unspotted  and  undefiled  Lamb  of  God 
wrap])ed  in  our  sins,  God  not  laying  our  sins  upon  us,  but 
upon  his  Son,  that  he,  bearing  the  punishment  thereof, 
might  be  our  peace,  that  by  his  stripes  we  might  b*^ 
healed." 

And  again  : — 

"  Sin  is  a  mighty  conqucor,  which  deroureth  all  man- 
kind, learned  and  unlearned,  holy,  wise,  and  mighty  men. 
This  tyrant  flieth  upon  Christ,  and  will  needs  swallow 
him  up  as  he  doth  all  other.  But  he  seeth  not  that  Christ 
is  a  person  of  invincible  and  everlasting  righteousness. 
Therefore  in  this  combat  sin  must  needs  be  vanquished 
and  killed  ;  and  righteousness  must  overcome,  live,  and 
reign.  So  in  Christ  all  sin  is  vanquished,  killed,  and 
b-jried ;  and  righteousness  remaineth  a  conqueror,  and 
reigneth  for  ever. 

"  In  like  manner  Death,  which  is  an  pmnipotent  qncon 
ani  empress  of  the  whole  world,  killing  kings,  princes, 
and  al!  men,  doth  mightily  encounter  with  Lifr,  thinking 


tjo  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

utterly  to  overcome  it  and  to  swallow  it  up.  But  be- 
cause the  Life  was  immortal,  therefore  when  it  was 
overcome,  it  Tievertheless  overcame,  vanquishing  and  kill- 
ing  Death.  Death,  therefore,  through  Christ,  is  van- 
quished and  abolished,  so  that  now  it  is  but  a  painted 
death,  which,  robbed  of  its  sting,  can  no  more  hurt  those 
that  believe  in  Christ,  who  is  become  the  death  of  Death 

•"  So  the  curse  hath  the  like  conflict  vrith  the  blessing, 
and  would  condemn  and  bring  it  to  nought ;  but  it  cannot 
For  the  blessing  is  divine  and  everlasting,  therefore  the 
curse  must  needs  give  place.  For  if  the  blessing  in  Christ 
could  be  overcome,  then  would  God  himself  be  overcome. 
But  this  is  impossible  ;  therefore  Christ,  the  power  of 
God,  righteousness,  blessing,  grace,  and  life,  overcometh 
and  destroyeth  those  monsters,  sin,  death,  and  the  curse, 
without  war  and  weapons,  in  this  our  body,  so  that  they 
can  no  more  hurt  those  that  believe." 

Such  truths  are  indeed  worth  battling  for;  but  who, 
save  the  devil,  would  war  against  them  ?  I  wonder  what 
Fritz  would  think  of  it  all  ? 

WiTTENBEKG,  February^  1518. 

CHRISTOPPIER  returned  yesterday  evening  from  the 
market-place,  where  the  students  have  been  burning 
Tetzel's  theses,  which  he  wrote  in  answer  to  Dr.  Luther's. 
Tetzel  hides  behind  the  papal  authority,  and  accases  Dr 
luther  of  assailing  the  Holy  Father  himself. 

But  Dr,  Luther  says  nothing  shall  ever  make  him  a  her 
etic  ,  that  he  will  recognize  the  voice  of  the  Pope  as  tin 
voice  of  Christ  himself.  The  students  kindled  this  confla- 
gration in  the  market-place  entirely  on  their  own  respcnsi- 
bility.  They  are  full  of  enthusiasm  for  Dr.  Martin,  and  of 
indignation  against  Tetzel  and  the  Dominicans. 

'*  Who  can  doul)t,"  said  Christopher,  "how  the  conflict 
will  eud,  between  all  learning  and  honesty  and  truth  ou 


ELSE'S  STORT.  271 

the  one  side,  and  a  few  contemptible  avaricious  monks  on 
the  other  ?"  And  he  proceeded  to  describe  to  us  the  con- 
flagration and  the  sayings  of  the  students  with  as  much 
exultation  as  if  it  had  been  a  victory  ovei  Tetzel  and  thfl 
j;dulgence-mongers  themselves. 

"  But  it  seepis  to  me,"  I  said,  "  that  Dr.  Luther  is  noJ 
eo  much  at  ease  about  it  as  you  are.  I  have  noticed  lately 
that  he  looks  grave,  and  at  times  very  sad.  He  does  not 
seem  to  think  the  victory  won." 

"  Young  soldiers,"  said  Gottfried,  "  on  the  eve  of  their 
first  battle  may  be  as  blithe  as  on -the  eve  of  a  touriiay. 
Veterans  are  grave  before  the  battle.  Their  courage  come» 
with  the  conflict.  It  will  be  thus,  I  believe,  with  Dr 
Luther.  For  surely  the  battle  is  coming.  Already  sonip 
of  his  old  friends  fall  ofi".  They  say  the  censor  at  Rome, 
Prierias,  has  condemned  and  written  against  his  theses." 

"  But,"  rejoined  Christopher,  "  they  say  also  that  Pope 
Leo  praised  Dr.  Luther's  genius,  and  said  it  was  only  the 
envy  of  the  monks  which  found  fault  with  him.  Dr.  Lu- 
ther believes  the  Pope  only  needs  to  learn  the  truth  about 
these  indulgence-mongers  to  disown  them  at  once." 

"Honest  men  believe  all  men  honest  until  they  are 
proved  dishonest,"  said  Gottfried  drily ;  "  but  the  Roman 
court  is  expensive  and  the  indulgences  are  profitable." 

This  morning  our  grandmother  asked  nervously  what 
was  the  meaning  of  the  shouting  she  had  heard  yesterday 
in  the  market-place,  and  the  glare  of  fire  she  had  seen,  and 
the  crackling  ? 

"  Only  Tetzel's  lying  theses,"  said  Christopher  She 
seemed  relieved. 

"  In  my  early  days,"  she  said,  "  I  learned  to  listen  too 
eagerly  to  sounds  like  that.  But  in  those  times  tdey 
burned  other  things  than  books  or  papeis  in  the  market 
pla4'.cs. 

"  Tetzel  threatens  to  do  so  again,"  said  ChriiJtopbor. 


272  THE  SCUONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

"No  doubt  they  will,  if  tbey  can,"  ghc  replied,  and  re 
laps«»'7  •uto  silence. 


FRITZ'S    STORY. 

AcGusTmiAN  Content,  MAmz. 
November,  1517. 

OEVEN  years  have  passed  since  I  have  written  any 
k3  thing  in  this  old  chronicle  of  mine,  and  as  in  the  quiet 
of  tJ>is  convent  once  more  I  open  it,  the  ink  on  the  first 
pagen  is  already  brown  with  time ;  yet  a  strange  familiar 
fragrance  breathes  from  them,  as  of  early  spring  flowers. 
My  <;hildhood  comes  back  to  me,  with  all  its  devout  sim- 
plicity ;  my  youtli,  with  all  its  rich  prospects  and  its  buoy- 
ant, ardent  hopes.  My  childhood  seems  like  one  of  those 
green  quiet  valleys  in  my  native  forests,  like  the  valley  of 
my  native  Eisenach  itself,  when  that  one  reach  of  the  for- 
est, and  that  one  quiet  town  with  its  spires  and  church 
bells,  and  that  one  lowly  home  with  its  love,  its  cares,  and 
its  twilight  talks  in  the  lumber-room,  were  all  the  world  1 
could  see. 

Youth  rises  before  me  like  that  first  joarney  through  the 
forest  to  the  University  of  Erfurt,  when  the  world  opened 
to  me  like  the  plains  from  the  breezy  heights,  a  battle-field 
for  glorious  achievement,  an  unbounded  ocean  for  adven- 
ture and  discovery,  a  vast  field  for  noble  work. 

Then  came  another  brief  interval,  when  once  again  the 
Xowly  home  at  Eisenach  became  to  me  dearer  and  more 
than  all  the  wide  world  beside,  and  all  earth  and  all  life 
eeemed  to  grow  sacred  and  to  expand  before  ms  in  the 
light  of  one  pure,  holy,  loving  maiden's  heart.  I  have  seen 
nothing  so  heaven-like  since  as  she  w  as.  But  then  came 
the  great  crash  which  wrenched  my  life  in  twain,  and  made 
home  and  the  world  alike  forbidden  ground  to  me. 


FEITZ'S  STORY.  ij ^ 

At  first,  after  lliat,  for  years  I  dared  not  think  of  Eva. 
But  isiuce  my  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  I  venture  to  cherisli  her 
memory  again.  I  thank  God  every  day  that  nothing  can 
erase  that  image  of  purity  and  love  from  my  leart.  Had 
it  not  been  for  that,  and  for  the  recollection  of  Dr.  Luther's 
manly,  honest  piety,  there  are  times  when  tho  very  exist- 
ence of  truth  and  holiness  on  earth  would  have  seemed  in- 
conceivable,  such  a  chaos  of  corruption  han  the  world 
appeared  to  me. 

How  often  has  the  little  lowly  hearth-fire,  glowing  from 
the  windows  of  the  old  home,  saved  me  from  shipwreck, 
when  "  for  many  days  neither  sun  nor  stars  appeared,  and 
no  small  tempest  lay  on  me." 

For  I  have  lived  during  these  years  behir^J  the  veil  of 
outward  shoAVS,  a  poor  insignificant  monk,  bpfore  Avhora 
none  thought  it  worth  while  to  inconvenience  themselves 
with  masks  or  disguises.  I  have  spent  houi  after  hour, 
moreover,  in  the  confessional.  I  have  been  in  the  sacristy 
before  the  mass,  and  at  the  convent  feast  after  it.  And  i 
have  spent  months  once  and  again  at  the  heart  of  Christen- 
dom, hi  Rome  itself,  where  the  indulgences  which  are  now 
stirring  up  all  Germany  are  manufactured,  and  where  the 
money  gained  by  the  indulgences  is  spent ;  not  entirely  on  the 
building  of  St.  Peter's  or  in  holy  wars  against  the  Turks  ! 

Thank  God  that  a  voice  is  raised  at  last  against  this  cry- 
ing, monstrous  lie,  the  honest  voice  of  Dr.  Luther.  It  is 
ringing  through  all  the  land.  I  have  just  returned  from  a 
mission  through  Germany,  and  I  had  opportunities  of  ob 
serving  the  efl^ect  of  the  theses. 

The  first  time  I  heard  of  them  was  from  a  sermon  in  a 
church  of  the  Dominicans  in  Bavaria. 

The  preacher  spoke  of  Dr.  Luther  by  name,  and  reviled 
the  theses  as  directly  inspired  by  the  devil,  declaring  that 
their  wretched  author  would  have  a  place  in  hell  lower 
than  all  the  heretics  from  Simon  Magus  downward. 
12* 


«74 


777^  SCIIONBERO-COTl'A  FAMILY. 


The  congregation  were  roused,  and  spoke  of  it  as  tliey 
dispersed.  Some  piously  Avoudeved  who  this  new  hei'etic 
could  be  who  was  worse  even  than  Huss.  Others  specu- 
lated what  this  new  poisonous  doctrine  could  be ;  and  a 
great  many  bought  a  copy  of  the  theses  to  see. 

In  the  Augustinian  convent  that  evening  they  formed 
the  subject  of  warm  debate.  Not  a  few  of  the  monks  tri- 
umphed in  them  as  an  effective  blow  for  Tetzel  and  the 
Dominicians.  A  few  rejoiced  and  said  these  Avere  the 
words  they  had  been  longing  to  hear  for  years.  Many 
expressed  wonder  that  people  should  make  so  much  stir 
about  them,  since  they  said  nothing  more  than  all  honest 
men  in  the  land  had  always  thought. 

A  few  nights  afterwards  I  lodged  at  the  house  of  Ru- 
precht  Haller,  a  priest  in  a  Franconian  village.  A  woman 
of  quiet  and  modest  aj^pearance,  young  in  form  but  worn 
and  old  in  exjjression,  with  a  subdued,  broken-spirited 
bearing,  was  preparing  our  supper,  and  whilst  she  was 
serving  the  table  I  began  to  speak  to  the  jMiest  about  the 
theses  of  Dr.  Luther. 

He  motioned  to  me  to  keep  silence,  and  hastily  turned 
the  conversation. 

When  we  were  left  alone  he  explained  his  reasons.     "  I 

'^e  her  the  money  for  an  indulgence  letter  last  week,  and 
sfte  purchased  one  from  one  of  Dr.  Tetzel's  comj^any,"  he 
Baid  ;  "  and  when  she  returned  her  heart  seemed  lighter 
«fean  I  have  seen  it  for  years,  since  God  smote  us  for  our 
^  ins,  and  little  Dietrich  died.  I  Avould  not  have  her  robbed 
of  that  little  bit  of  comfort  for  the  world,  be  it  tr  ae  or  false." 

Theirs  was  a  sad  story,  common  enough  in  every  town 
..-ud  village  as  regarded  the  sin,  and  only  uncommon  as  to 
the  longing  for  better  things  which  yet  lingered  in  thia 
hearts  of  the  g  'ilty. 

I  suggested  her  returning  to  her  kindred  or  entering  a 
uonvent. 


FRITZ'S  STOUT.  275 

**  She  has  no  kmdred  left  that  would  receive  her,"  he 
gaid  ;  "  and  to  send  her  to  be  scorned  and  disciplined  by  a 
community  of  nuns — never!" 

"  But  her  soul !"  I  said,  "  and  yours  ?" 

"  The  blessed  Lord  received  such,"  he  answered  almo&t 
icrcely,  "  before  the  Pharisees." 

**  Such  received  him!"  I  said  quietly,  "but  receiving 
nim  they  went  and  sinned  no  more." 

"  And  when  did  God  ever  say  it  was  sin  for  a  priest  to 
marry  ?"  he  asked  ;  "  not  in  the  Old  Testament,  for  the 
son  of  Elkanah  t  he  priest  and  Plannah  ministered  before 
the  Lord  in  the  temple,  as  perhaps  our  little  Dietrich,"  he 
added  in  a  low  tone,  "  ministers  before  Him  in  his  temple 
now.  And  where  in  the  New  Testament  do  you  find  it 
forbidden  ?" 

"  The  Church  forbids  it,"  I  said. 

"  Since  when  ?"  he  asked.  "  The  subject  is  too  near  my 
heart  for  me  not  to  have  searched  to  see.  And  five  hun- 
dred years  ago,  I  have  read,  before  the  days  of  Ilildebrand 
the  pope,  many  a  village  pastor  had  his  lawful  wife,  whom 
he  loved  as  I  love  Bertha;  for  God  knows  neither  she  nor 
I  ever  loved  another." 

"  Does  this  satisfy  her  conscience  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  replied  bitterly,  "  but  only  sometimes 
Oftener  she  lives  as  o,ie  under  a  curse,  afraid  to  receive 
any  good  thing,  and  bowing  to  cvoiy  sorrow  as  her  bitter 
desert,  and  the  foretaste  of  the  terrible  retribution  to 
come." 

"  Whatever  is  not  of  faith  is  sin,"  I  murmured. 

"But  what  will  be  the  portion  of  those  who  ..all  what 
God  sanctions  sin,"  he  said,  "and  bring  trouble  and  pollu- 
tion into  hearts  as  pure  as  hers  V" 

The  woman  entered  the  room  as  he  was  speaking,  and 
must  have  cauglit  his  words,  for  a  deep  crimson  flushed 
ber  pale  face.     As  she  turned  away,  her  whole  frame  quiv' 


276  THE  SCITONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

3red  M'ith  a  su])pressed  sob.  But  afterwards,  when  the 
priest  left  the  room,  she  came  up  to  me  and  said,  h)oldng 
with  her  sad,  dark,  lustreless  eyes  at  me,  "  You  were  say- 
ing thai;  some  doubt  the  efficacy  of  these  indulgences? 
But  you  do  not?  I  cannot  trust  Am,"  she  added  softly, 
"  he  would  be  afraid  to  tell  me  if  he  thought  so." 

I  hesitated  what  to  say.  I  could  not  tell  an  untruth ; 
and  befoie  those  searching,  earnest  eyes,  any  attempt  at 
evasion  would  have  been  vain. 

"  You  do  not  believe  this  letter  can  do  anything  for  me,'' 
she  said  ;  "  tior  do  /."  And  moving  quietly  to  the  hearth, 
she  tore  the  indulgence  into  shreds,  and  threw  it  on  the 
flauies. 

"  Do  not  tell  him  this,"  she  said ;  "  he  thinks  it  comforts 
me." 

I  tried  to  say  some  words  about  repentance  and  forgive 
ness  being  free  to  all. 

''  Repentance  for  me,"  she  said,  "  would  be  to  leave  him, 
would  it  not  ?" 

I  could  not  deny  it. 

"  I  will  never  leave  him,"  she  replied,  with  a  calmness 
which  was  more  like  principle  than  passion.  "  He  has  sac- 
rificed life  for  me ;  but  for  me  he  might  have  been  a  great 
and  honoured  man.  Aud  do  you  think  I  would  leave  him 
to  bear  his  blighted  life  alone  ?" 

Ah !  it  was  no  dread  of  scorn  or  discipline  which  kept 
her  from  the  convent. 

For  bomt  time  I  was  silenced.  I  dared  neither  to  re- 
proach nor  to  comfort.  At  length  I  said,  "  Life,  whether 
joyful  or  sorrowful,  is  very  short.  Holiness  is  infinitely 
better  than  happiness  here,  and  holiness  makes  happiness 
in  the  life  beyond.  If  you  felt  it  wjuld  be  for  his  good, 
you  would  do  anythmg,  at  any  cost  to  yourself,  would  you 
not  ?" 

Ilcr  eyes  filled  with  tears      "You  believe,  then,  that 


FRITZ'S  8T0R7.  277 

there  is  some  good  left  even  in  me,"  she  said  "Foi  this 
may  God  bless  you,"  and  silently  she  left  the  room. 

Five  hundred  years  ago  these  two  lives  might  have  Leer 
holy,  honourable,  and  happy ;  and  now  ! — • 

I  left  that  house  \\\t\\  a  heavy  heart,  and  a  mind  more 
bewildered  than  before. 

But  that  pale,  worn  face ;  those  deep,  sad,  truthful  eyeg ; 
and  that  brow,  that  might  have  been  as  pure  as  the  brow 
of  a  St.  Agnes,  have  haunted  me  often  since.  And  w^hen- 
ever  I  think  of  it,  I  say, — 

"  God  be  merciful  to  them  and  to  me,  sinners." 

For  had  not  my  own  good,  pure,  pious  mother  doubts 
and  scruples  almost  as  bitter  ?  Did  not  she  also  live  too 
often  as  if  under  a  curse  ?  Who  or  what  has  thrown  this 
shadow  on  so  many  homes  ?  Who  that  knows  the  interior 
of  many  convents  dares  to  say  they  are  holier  than  homes  ? 
Who  that  has  lived  with,  or  confessed  many  monks  or 
nuns,  can  dare  to  say  their  hearts  are  more  heavenly  than 
those  of  husband  or  wife,  father  or  mother  ?  Alas !  the 
questions  of  that  priest  are  nothing  new  to  me.  But  T 
dare  not  entertain  them.  For  if  monastic  life  is  a  delu- 
sion, to  what  have  I  sacrificed  hopes  which  were  so  ab- 
sorbing, and  might  have  been  so  pure  ? 

Regrets  are  burdens  a  brave  man  must  cast  off.  For 
my  little  life  what  does  it  matter  ?  But  to  see  vice  shame- 
fully reigning  in  the  most  sacred  places,  and  scruples,  per- 
haps false,  staining  the  purest  hearts,  who  can  behold  these 
things  and  not  mourn  ?  Crimes  a  pagan  would  have 
abhorred  atoned  for  by  a  few  florins ;  sins  which  the  Holy 
Scriptures  scarcely  seem  to  condemn  weighing  on  tender 
consciences  like  crimes !  What  will  be  the  end  of  tliia 
chaos  ? 

The  next  niglit  I  spent  in  the  castle  of  an  old  kniglit  in 
the  ThuringiaJi  Forest,  Ot/c  von  Gersdorf.     He  welcomed 


278  THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

me  very  liospitably  to  his  table,  at  which  a  stately  old  lady 
presided,  his  widowed  sister. 

"  What  is  all  this  talk  about  Dr.  Luther  and  his  theses  ?" 
he  asked  ;  "  only,  I  suppose,  some  petty  quarrel  between 
the  monks  !  And  yet  my  nephew  XJlrich  thinks  there  is 
no  one  on  earth  like  this  little  Brother  Martin.  You  good 
Augustinians  do  not  like  the  Black  Friars  to  have  all  the 
profit ;  is  that  it  ?"  he  asked,  laughing. 

"  That  is  not  Dr.  Luther's  motive,  at  all  events,"  I  said ; 
"  I  do  not  believe  money  is  more  to  him  than  it  is  to  the 
birds  of  the  air." 

*'  No,  brother,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  think  of  the  beautiful 
words  our  Chriemhild  read  us  from  his  book  on  the  Lord's 
Prayer." 

"  Yc^! ;  you,  and  Ulrich,  and  Chriemhild,  and  Atlantis," 
rejoined  the  old  knight,  "  you  are  are  all  alike ;  the  little 
friar  has  bewitched  you  all." 

The  names  of  my  sisters  made  my  heart  beat. 

"Does  the  lady  know  Chriemhild  and  Atlantis  Cotta?"  I 
asked. 

"  Come,  nephew  Ulrich,"  said  the  knight  to  a  young 
man  who  had  just  entered  the  ball  from  the  chase;  "tell 
this  good  brother  all  you  know  of  Fraiilein  Chriemhild 
Cotta." 

We  were  soon  the  best  friends ;  and  long  after  the  old 
knight  and  his  sister  bad  retired,  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  and 
I  sat  up  discoursing  about  Dr.  Luther  and  his  noble  words 
and  deeds,  and  of  names  dearer  to  us  both  even  than  his. 

"Then  you  are  Fritz,"  he  said  musingly,  after  a  pause; 
"  the  Fritz  they  all  deligbt  to  talk  of,  and  think  no  one 
can  ever  be  equal  to.  You  are  the  Fritz  that  Chriemhild 
says  her  mother  always  hoped  would  have  wedded  that 
angel  maiden  Eva  von  Schonberg,  who  is  now  a  nun  al 
Nimptschen  ;  Avhose  hymn-book  and  '  Theologia  Teutsch' 
Bbe  carried  wiih  her  to  the  convent.     I  wonder  you  could 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  zjq 

have  left  ber  to  become  a  monk,"  he  continued;  "your 
vocation  must  have  been  very  strong." 

At  that  moment  it  certainly  felt  very  y/eak.  But  I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  let  him  see  this,  and  I  said, 
with  as  steady  a  voice  as  I  could  command,  "  I  believe  it 
was  God's  will." 

"  "Well,"  he  continued,  "  it  is  good  for  any  one  to  have 
seen  her,  and  to  carry  that  image  of  purity  and  piety  with 
him  into  cloister  or  home.  It  is  better  than  any  painting 
of  the  saints,  to  have  that  angelic,  childlike  countenance, 
and  that  voice  sweet  as  church  music,  in  one's  heart," 

"  It  is,"  I  said,  and  I  could  not  have  said  a  word  mor^-^. 
Happily  for  me,  he  turned  to  another  subject  and  expati 
ated  for  a  long  time  on  the  beauty  and  goodness  of  his 
little  Chriemhild,  who  was  to  be  his  wife,  he  said,  next 
year ;  whilst  through  my  heart  only  tw^o  thoughts  remained 
distinct,  namely,  what  my  mother  had  wished  about  Eva 
and  me,  and  that  Eva  had  taken  my  "Theolo^a  Teutsch" 
into  the  convent  with  her. 

It  took  some  days  before  I  could  remove  tl  it  sweet, 
guileless,  famihar  face,  to  the  saintly,  unearthly  height  in 
my  heart,  where  only  it  is  safe  for  me  to  gaze  on  it. 

-But  I  believe  Ulrich  thought  me  a  very  sympathizing 
li.«tener,  for  in  about  an  hour  he  said, — 

"  You  are  a  patient  and  good-natured  mr  nk,  to  listen 
thus  to  my  romances.  However,  she  is  youi*  sister,  and  } 
wish  you  would  be  at  our  wedding.  But,  at  all  events,  ii 
will  be  delightful  to  have  news  for  CLriemhild  and  all  of 
them  about  Fritz." 

I  had  intended  to  go  on  to  Wittenberg  for  a  few  days, 
but  after  that  conversation  I  did  not  dare  to  do  so  at  once. 
I  returned  to  the  University  of  Tubingen,  to  quiet  my 
mind  a  little  with  Greek  and  Hebrew,  under  the  directioE 
of  the  V  xceileiit  Reuchlin,  it  being  the  will  of  our  Vicap 
General  that  I  should  study  tl  e  languages. 


s8o  TEE  SCRONBERQ -GOTTA  FAMILY. 

At  Ti'ibingen  I  found  Dr.  Lnther's  theses  the  great  topi< 
of  debate.  Men  of  learning  rejoiced  in  the  theses  as  an 
assault  on  barbarism  and  ignorance ;  men  of  straightfor- 
ward integrity  hailed  them  as  a  protest  against  a  system 
of  lies  and  imposture ;  men  of  piety  gave  thanks  for  them 
as  a  defence  of  holiness  and  truth.  The  students  enthusi- 
astically greeted  Dr.  Luther  as  the  prince  of  the  new  age ; 
the  aged  Reuchlin  and  many  of  the  professors  recognised 
liim  as  an  assailant  of  old  foes  from  a  new  point  of  attack. 

Here  I  attended  for  some  weeks  the  lectures  of  the 
young  doctor,  Philip  Melancthon  (then  only  twenty-one, 
yet  already  a  doctor  for  four  years),  until  he  was  sum 
moned  to  Wittenberg,  which  he  reached  on  the  25th  of 
August,  1518. 

On  business  of  the  order,  I  was  deputed  about  the  same 
time  on  a  mission  to  the  Augustinian  convent  at  Witten- 
berg, so  that  I  saw  him  arrive.  The  disappointment  at 
his  first  appearance  was  great.  Could  this  little  unpre- 
tending-looking youth  be  the  great  scholar  Reuchlin  had 
recommended  so  warmly,  and  from  whose  abilities  the 
Elector  Frederick  expected  such  great  results  for  his  new 
university  ? 

Dr.  Luther  was  among  the  first  to  discover  the  treasure 
hidden  in  this  insignificant  frame.  But  his  first  Latin 
harangue,  four  days  after  his  arrival,  won  the  admiration 
of  all ;  and  very  soon  his  lecture-room  was  crowded. 

This  was  the  event  which  absorbed  Wittenberg  when 
lu'st  I  saw  it. 

The  return  to  my  old  home  was  very  strange  to  me. 
Such  a  broad  barrier  of  time  and  circumstance  had  grown 
up  between  me  and  those  most  familiar  to  me ! 

Else,  matronly  as  she  was,  with  her  keys,  her  stores,  her 
large  household,  and  her  two  children,  the  baby  Fritz  and 
Gretchen,  was  in  heart  the  very  same  to  me  as  when  we 
•parted  for  my  first  term  at  Erfurt.     Her  honest,  kind  bl«e 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  28 ^ 

eyes,  bad  tlie  very  same  look.  But  avo\  nd  Lev  ^vas  a 
whole  new  world  of  strangers,  strange  to  me  as  her  owp 
new  life,  with  whom  I  had  no  links  whatever. 

With  Chriemhild  and  the  younger  children  the  recol- 
lection of  me  as  the  elder  brother  seemed  struggling  with 
their  reverence  for  the  priest.  Christopher  appeared  to  look 
on  me  with  a  mixture  of  pity,  and  respect,  and  per23lexity, 
which  prevented  my  having  any  intimate  intercourse  with 
him  at  all. 

Only  my  mother  seemed  unchanged  Avith  regard  to  me, 
although  much  more  aged  and  feeble.  But  in  her  affection 
there  was  a  clinging  tenderness  which  pierced  my  heart 
more  than  the  bitterest  reproaches.  I  felt  by  the  silent 
watching  of  her  eyes  how  she  had  missed  me. 

My  father  was  little  altered,  except  that  his  schemes 
appeared  to  give  him  a  new  and  placid  satisfaction  in  the 
very  impossibility  of  their  fulfilment,  and  that  the  rela- 
tions between  him  and  my  grandmother  were  much  more 
friendly. 

There  was  at  first  a  little  severity  in  our  grandmother's 
manner  to  me,  which  wore  olf  when  we  understood  how 
much  Dr.  Luther's  teaching  had  done  for  us  both ;  and 
she  never  wearied  of  hearing  what  he  had  said  and  done 
at  Rome. 

The  one  who,  I  felt,  would  have  been  entirely  the  same, 
was  gone  for  ever ;  and  I  could  scarcely  regret  the  absence 
which  loft  that  one  image  undinnned  by  the  toiich  of  time, 
and  surrounded  by  no  barriers  of  change. 

But  of  Eva  no  one  spoke  to  me,  except  little  Thekla, 
who  sang  to  me  over  and  over  the  Latin  hymns  Eva  had 
taught  her,  and  asked  if  she  sang  them  at  ad  in  the  same 
way. 

I  told  her  yes.  They  Avere  the  same  words,  the  same 
melodies,  much  of  the  same  sc/ft,  reverert,  innocent  man- 
aer.     But  little  Thekla's  voice  was  deep  and  powerful,  an^ 


x82  THE  8CH0NBERQ-G0TTA  FAMILY. 

clear  like  a  thrush's ;  and  Eva's  used  to  be  like  the  sofl 
muriauring  of  a  dove  iu  the  depth  of  some  quiet  wood — 
hardly  a  voice  at  all — an  embodied  prayer,  as  if  you  stood 
at  the  threshold  of  her  heart,  and  heard  the  music  of  her 
happy,  holy,  childish  thoughts  within. 

No,  nothing  could  ever  break  the  echo  of  that  voice  tc 
me. 

But  Thekla  and  I  became  great  friends.  She  had  scarcely 
known  me  of  old.  We  became  friends  as  we  were.  There 
was  nothing  to  recall,  nothing  to  efface.  And  Cousin  Eva 
had  been  to  her  as  a  star  or  angel  in  heaven,  or  as  if  she 
had  been  another  child  sent  by  God  out  of  some  beautiful 
old  legend  to  be  her  friend. 

Altogether,  there  was  some  j^ain  in  this  visit  to  my  old 
home.  I  had  prayed  so  earnestly  that  the  blank  my  de- 
parture had  made  might  be  filled  up  ;  but  now  that  I  saw 
it  filled,  and  the  life  of  my  beloved  running  its  busy  course, 
Aith  no  place  in  it  for  me,  it  left  a  dreary  feeling  of  exile 
on  my  heart.  If  the  dead  could  thus  return,  would  they 
feel  anything  of  this  ?  Not  the  holy  dead,  surely.  They 
would  rejoice  that  the  sorrow,  having  wrought  its  work, 
should  cease  to  be  so  bitter — that  the  blank  should  not,  in- 
deed, be  filled  (no  true  love  can  replace  another),  but 
veiled  and  made  fruitful,  as  time  and  nature  veil  all  ruins. 

But  the  holy  dead  would  revisit  earth  from  a  home,  a 
Father's  house ; — and  that  the  cloister  is  not,  nor  can  ever 
be. 

Yet  I  would  gladly  have  remained  at  Wittenberg. 
Compared  with  Wittenberg,  all  the  world  seemed  asleep. 
There  it  was  morning,  and  an  atmosphere  of  hope  and 
activity  was  around  my  heart.  Dr.  Luther  Avas  there ; 
and,  whether  consciously  or  not,  all  who  look  for  better 
days  seem  to  fix  their  eyes  on  him. 

But  I  was  sent  to  Mainz.  On  my  journey  thither  I 
went  out  of  my  way  to  take  a  new  book  of  Dr.  Luther's 


FRITZ'S  8T0RT  2%\ 

to  my  poor  Priest  Ruprecbt  in  Franconia.  His  village  iay 
in  the  depths  of  a  pine  foiest.  The  book  was  the  Exposi- 
tion of  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  Geiman,  for  lay  and  unlearned 
people.  The  priest's  house  was  empty;  but  I  laid  the 
book  on  a  wooden  seat  in  the  porch,  with  my  name  and  a 
few  words  of  gratitude  for  his  hospitality.  And  as  I 
wound  my  way  through  the  forest,  I  saw  from  a  height  oa 
the  opposite  side  of  the  valley  a  woman  enter  the  porch, 
and  stoop  to  pick  up  the  book,  and  then  stand  reading  it 
in  the  doorway.  As  I  turned  away,  her  figure  still  stood 
motionless  in  the  arch  of  the  porch,  with  the  white  leaves  of 
the  open  book  relieved  against  the  shadow  of  the  interior. 

I  prayed  that  the  words  might  be  written  on  her  heart. 
"Wonderful  words  of  holy  love  and  grace  I  knew  were 
there,  which  would  restore  hope  and  purity  to  any  heart 
on  which  they  were  written. 

And  now  I  am  placed  in  this  Augustinian  monastery  at 
Mainz  in  the  Rhine-land. 

This  convent  has  its  own  peculiar  traditions.  Here  is  a 
dungeon  in  which,  not  forty  years  ago  (in  1481),  died  John 
of  Wesel — the  old  man  who  had  dared  to  protest  against 
indulgences,  and  to  utter  such  truths  as  Dr.  Luther  is  up- 
holding now. 

An  aged  monk  of  this  monastery,  who  was  young  when 
John  of  Wesel  died,  remembers  him,  and  has  often  spoken 
to  me  about  him.  The  inquisitors  instituted  a  process 
against  him,  which  was  carried  on,  like  so  many  others,  in 
the  secret  of  the  cloister. 

It  was  said  that  he  made  a  general  recantation,  but  that 
two  accusations  Avhich  were  brought  against  him  he  did 
not  attempt  in  his  defence  to  deny.  They  were  these: 
"  That  it  is  not  his  monastic  life  which  saves  any  monk, 
but  the  grace  of  God;"  and,  "That  the  same  Holy  Spirit 
who  inspired  the  Holy  Scriptures  alone  can  interpret  thera 
with  power  to  the  heart." 


i84  THE  80UONBERO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

I'lie  inquisitors  burned  his  books;  at  which,  my  infono- 
ant  said,  the  old  man  wept. 

"  Why,"  he  said.  "  should  men  be  so  inflamed  agains 
him  ?  There  was  so  much  in  his  books  that  was  good, 
and  must  they  be  all  burned  for  the  little  evil  that  waa 
mixed  Avith  the  good?  Surely  tliis  was  man's  judgment, 
not  God's — not  his  who  would  have  spared  Sodom,  at 
Abraham's  prayer,  for  but  ten  righteous,  had  they  been 
found  there.  O  God,"  he  sighed,  "  must  the  good  perish 
with  the  evil  ?" 

But  the  inquisitors  were  not  to  be  moved.  The  books 
were  condemned  and  ignominiously  burned  in  public ;  the 
old  man's  name  was  branded  with  heresy ;  and  he  himself 
was  silenced,  and  left  in  the  convent  prison  to  die. 

I  asked  the  monk  who  told  me  of  this,  what  were  the 
especial  heresies  for  which  John  of  Wesel  was  condemned. 

"Heresies  against  the  Church,  I  believe,"  he  replied. 
'  I  have  heard  him  in  his  sermons  declare  that  the  Church 
was  becoming  like  what  the  Jewish  nation  was  in  the  days 
of  our  Lord.  He  protested  against  the  secular  S2:)lendours 
of  the  priests  and  prelates — against  the  cold  ceremonial 
into  which  he  said  the  services  had  sunk,  and  the  empty 
superstitions  which  were  substituted  foi-  true  piety  of  heart 
and  life.  He  said  that  the  salt  had  lost  its  savour ;  that 
many  of  the  priests  were  thieves  and  robbers,  and  not 
shepherds ;  that  the  religion  in  fashion  was  little  bettei 
than  that  of  the  Pharisees  who  put  our  Lord  to  death — a 
cloak  for  spiritual  pride,  and  narrow,  selfish  bitterness. 
He  declared  that  divine  and  ecclesiastical  authority  were 
of  very  different  weight;  that  the  outward  professing 
Church  was  to  be  distinguished  from  the  true  living  Church 
of  Christ ;  that  the  power  of  absolution  given  to  the  priests 
was  sacramental,  and  not  judicial.  In  a  sermon  at  Worms, 
I  once  heard  him  say  he  thought  little  of  the  Pope,  the 
Church,  or  the  Councils,  as  a  foundation  to  build  our  faith 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  285 

■pon      '  Christ  alone,'  he  declared,  '  1  praise.     May  the 
word  of  Christ  dwell  in  us  richly.'  " 

"  They  were  bold  words,"  I  remarked. 

"  More  than  that,"  replied  the  aged  monk ;  "  John  of 
JITesel  protested  thnt  Avhat  the  Bible  did  not  hold  as  sin. 
neither  could  he ;  and  he  is  even  reported  to  have  said, 
■  Eat  on  fast  .  ays,  if  thou  art  hungry.'  " 

"  That  is  a  concession  many  of  the  monks  scarcely  need," 
T  observed.  "  His  life,  then,  was  not  condemned,  but  only 
Uis  doctrine." 

"  I  was  sorry,"  the  c.  X  monk  resumed,  "  that  it  was 
necessary  to  condemn  him ;  for  from  that  time  to  this,  I 
never  have  heard  preaching  that  5:Virred  the  heart  like  his. 
When  he  ascended  the  pulpit,  the  jhurch  was  thronged. 
The  laity  understood  and  listened  to  him  as  eagerly  as  the 
religious.  It  was  a  pity  he  was  a  heretic,  for  I  do  not  ex- 
pect ever  to  hear  his  like  again." 

"  You  haA'e  never  heard  Dr.  Luther  preach  ?"  I  said. 

"  Dr.  Luther  who  wrote  those  theses  they  are  talking  so 
much  of?"  he  asked.  "  Do  the  people  throng  to  hear  hia 
sermons,  and  hang  on  his  words  as  if  they  were  words  of 
lile?" 

"  They  do,"  I  replied. 

"  Then,"  rejoined  the  old  monk  softly,  "  let  Dr.  Luther 
take  care.  That  was  the  way  with  so  many  of  the  hereti- 
cal preachers.  With  John  of  Goch  at  Mechlin,  and  John 
Wesel  whom  they  eicpelled  from  Paris,  I  have  heard  it 
was  just  the  same.  But,"  he  continued,  "if  Dr.  Luther 
comes  to  Mainz,  I  will  certainly  try  to  hear  him.  I  should 
Uke  to  have  my  cold,  dry,  old  heart  moved  like  that  again. 
Often  when  I  read  the  holy  Gospels  his  words  come  back 
iJrother,  it  was  like  the  breath  of  life." 

The  last  man  that  ventured  to  say  in  the  face  of  Ger 
many  that  man's  word  is  not  to  be  placed  on  an  equality 
with  God's,  and  that  the  Bible  is  the  only  standard  of 

(122) 


,86  TUE  SCHONBEBO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

truth,  an<l  the  ooe  rule  of  right  and  wrong — this  is  how  Kg 
died! 

How  will  it  he  with  the  next — with  the  man  that  is  pro 
fclaiming  this  in  the  face  of  the  world  now  ? 

The  old  monk  turned  hack  to  me,  after  we  had  sepa- 
rated, and  said,  in  a  low  voice, — 

'•  Tell  Dr.  Luther  to  take  warning  by  John  of  Wesel. 
lloly  men  and  great  preachers  may  so  easily  become  hero- 
iics  without  knowing  it.  And  yet,"  he  added,  "  to  preach 
each  sermons  as  John  of  Wesel,  I  am  not  sure  it  is  not 
woi  th  while  to  die  in  prison.  I  think  I  could  be  content 
to  die,  if  I  could  hear  one  such  again !  Tell  Dr.  Luthei 
to  take  care ;  but,  nevertheless,  if  he  comes  to  M.iinz  I  will 
hear  him." 

The  good,  then,  in  John  of  Wesel's  word-^  hiw  qo| 
perished,  in  spite  of  the  flames. 


XIV. 


ELSE'S     STORY. 


Wittenberg,  July  13,  1520. 
ANY  events  have  happened  since  last  I  wrote, 
both  in  this  little  worid  and  in  the  large  woild 
•  outside.  Our  Gretchen  has  two  little  brothers, 
who  are  as  ingenious  in  destruction,  and  seem 
to  have  as  many  designs  against  their  own  welfare,  as  their 
uncle  had  at  their  age,  and  seem  likely  to  perplex  Gretchen, 
dearly  as  she  loves  them,  much  as  Christopher  and  Pollux 
iid  me.  Chriemhild  is  married,  and  has  gone  to  her  home 
in  the  Thuringian  Forest.  Atlantis  is  betrothed  to  Con- 
rad Winkelried,  a  Swiss  student..  Pollux  is  gone  to  Spain, 
on  some  mercantile  affairs  of  the  Eisenach  house  of  Cotta, 
in  which  he  is  a  partner ;  and  Fritz  has  been  among  us 
once  more.  That  is  now  about  two  years  since.  He  was 
certainly  much  graver  than  of  old.  Indeed  he  often  looked 
More  than  grave,  as  if  some  weight  of  sorrow  rested  on 
him  But  with  our  mother  and  the  children  he  was 
always  cheerful. 

Gretchen  and  Uncle  Fritz  formed  the  strongest  mutual 
attachment,  and  to  this  day  she  often  asks  me  when  he 
will  come  back ;  and  nothing  delights  her  more  than  to  sit 
on  my  knee  before  his  picture,  and  hear  me  tell  over  and 
over  again  the  stories  of  oui-  old  talks  in  the  lumber-room 

(387) 


288  1  HE  SOHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

at  EiseDa»'h,  ur  of  the  long  days  we  used  to  spend  ir  the 
pine  forests,  gathering  wood  for  the  winter  fires.  She 
thinks  no  fesiival  could  be  so  delightful  as  that ;  and  her 
favourite  amusement  is  to  gather  little  bundles  of  willow 
or  oak  twigs,  by  the  river  Elbe,  or  on  the  Diiben  Heath, 
and  bring  them  tome  for  household  use.  All  the  splendid 
puppets  and  toys  bci  father  brings  her  from  Nuremberg, 
or  has  sent  from  Veiu^e,  do  not  give  her  half  the  pleasure 
that  she  finds  in  the  lioi^th,  when  he  takes  her  there,  and 
she  returns  with  her  littlo  apron  full  of  dry  sticks,  and  her 
hand  as  brown  and  dirt;;  u^a  a  little  wood-cutter's,  fancying 
ijhe  is  doing  what  Undo.  VA%7.  and  I  did  when  we  were 
children,  and  being  useful. 

Last  summer  she  was  enlAv^wed  with  a  special  apple  and 
pear  tree  of  her  own,  and  lire  fruit  of  these  she  stores 
with  her  little  fagots  to  givft  hi  Christmas  to  a  poor  old 
woman  we  know. 

Gottfried  and  I  want  the  cK'i/vren  to  learn  early  that 
pure  joy  of  giving,  and  of  doing  kindnesses,  Avhich  trans- 
mutes wealth  from  dust  into  true  goid,  and  prevents  these 
possessions  which  are  such  good  servients  from  becoming 
our  masters,  and  reducing  us,  as  they  feeem  to  do  so  many 
wealthy  people,  into  the  mere  slaves  and  hired  guardians 
of  things. 

I  pray  God  often  that  the  experience  ol  poverty  which 
I  had  for  so  many  years  may  never  be  lost.  It  seems  to 
me  a  gift  God  has  given  me,  just  as  a  course  at  the  univor 
Bity  is  a  gift.  I  have  graduated  in  the  school  of  poverty, 
and  God  grant  I  may  never  forget  the  secrets  of  poverty 
taught  me  about  the  struggles  and  wants  of  the  poor. 

The  room  in  which  I  write  now,  with  its  carpets,  pic- 
tures, and  carved  furniture,  is  very  difierent  from  the  dear 
bare  old  lumber-room  where  I  began  my  chronicle ;  and 
the  inlaid  ebony  and  ivory  cabinet  on  which  my  papei 
lies  is  a  different  desk  from  the  piles  of  old  books  where  J 


ELSE'S  STORY.  agg 

used  to  trace  the  first  pages  slowly  in  a  jliildish  hnnd. 
Bat  the  poor  man's  luxuries  will  always  be  the  most 
precious  to  me.  The  warm  sunbeams,  shining  through 
the  translucent  vine-leaves  at  the  open  window,  are  fairer 
than  all  the  jewel-like  Venetian  glass  of  the  closed  case- 
ments which  are  now  dying  crimson  the  pages  of  Dr.  Lxu 
thur's  Commentary,  left  open  on  the  window-seat  an  liour 
auice  by  Gottfried. 

Bnt  how  can  I  be  writing  so  much  about  my  own  tiny 
world,  when  all  the  world  around  me  is  agitated  by  such 
great  fears  and  hopes  ? 

At  this  moment,  through  the  open  window,  I  see  Dr. 
Luther  and  Dr.  Philip  Melancthon  walking  slowly  up  the 
street  in  close  conversation.  The  hum  of  their  voi(!ea 
reaches  me  here,  although  they  are  talking  low.  How 
diiferent  they  look^  and  are ;  and  yet  what  friends  they 
have  become !  Probably,  in  a  great  degree,  because  of 
the  difference.  The  one  looks  like  a  veteran  soldier,  with 
his  rock-like  brow,  his  dark  eyes,  his  vigorous  form,  and 
his  firm  step  ;  the  other,  Avith  his  high,  expanded  forehead, 
his  thin,  worn  face,  and  his  slight  youthful  frame,  like  a 
combination  of  a  young  student  and  an  old  philosopher. 

Gottfried  says  God  has  given  them  to  each  other  and  U 
Germany,  blessing  the  Church  as  he  does  the  world  by  th» 
union  of  opposites,  rain  and  sunshine,  heat  and  cold,  set. 
and  land,  husband  and  wife. 

ITow  those  two  great  men  (for  Gottfried  says  Dr.  Me- 
lancthon is  great,  and  I  know  Dr.  Luther  is)  love  and 
leverence  each  other !  Dr.  Luther  says  he  is  but  the  fore- 
runner, and  Melancthon  the  true  prophet !  that  he  is  but 
the  wood  cutter  clearing  the  forest  with  lough  blows,  that 
Dr.  Philip  may  sow  the  i)recious  seed ;  and  when  he  went 
to  encounter  the  legate  at  Augsburg,  he  wrote,  that  if 
Philip  lived  it  mattered  little  what  became  of  him. 

But  ive  do  not  think  so,  nor  does  Dr.  Melancthon.  "No 
in 


2^0  THE  SCIWNBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

one,"'  he  says,  "  comes  near  Dr.  LxUher,  and  indeed  tlu 
heart  of  the  whole  nation  hangs  on  him.  Who  stirs  th« 
heart  of  Germany — of  nobles,  peasants,  princes,  women, 
childien— as  he  does  with  his  noble,  faithful  words?" 

Twice  during  these  last  years  we  have  been  in  the  greats 
est  anxiety  about  his  safety, — once  when  he  was  summoned 
before  the  legate  at  Augsburg,  and  once  when  he  went  to 
the  great  disputation  with  Dr.  Eck  at  Leipsic. 

But  how  great  the  difference  between  his  purpose  when 
}.e  went  to  Augsburg,  and  when  he  returned  from  Leipsic! 

At  Augsburg  he  would  have  conceded  anything,  but 
the  truth  about  the  free  justification  of  every  sinner  who 
believes  in  Christ.  He  reverenced  the  Pope,  he  would  not 
for  the  world  become  a  heretic.  No  name  of  opprobrium 
was  so  terrible  to  him  as  that. 

At  lieipsic  he  had  learned  to  disbelieve  that  the  Popu 
had  any  authority  to  determine  doctrine,  and  he  boldly 
confessed  that  the  Hussites  (men  till  noAv  abhorred  in 
Saxony  as  natural  enemies  as  well  as  deadly  heretics) 
ought  to  be  honoured  for  confessing  sound  truth.  And 
from  that  time  both  Dr.  Luther  and  ]\[elancthon  have 
stood  forth  openly  as  the  champions  of  the  Word  of  God 
against  the  papacy. 

Now,  however,  a  worse  danger  threatens  him,  even  the 
bull  of  excommunication  which  they  say  is  now  being 
forged  at  Rome,  and  which  has  never  yet  failed  to  crush 
where  it  has  fallen.  Dr.  Luther  has,  indeed,  taught  us  to 
net  to  dread  it  as  a  spiritual  weapon,  but  we  fear  its 
temporal  effects,  especially  if  followed  by  the  ban  of  the 
empire. 

Often,  indeed,  he  talks  of  taking  refuge  in  bome  otlier 
land ;  the  good  Elector,  even,  himsolf,  has  at  times  advised 
it,  fearing  no  longer  to  be  able  to  protect  him.  But  G»\<i 
preserve  liim  to  Germany 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


391 


June  23,  1520, 

Tins  evening, as  we  were  sitting  inmy father's  house, 
Christopher  brought  us,  damp  from  the  press,  a  copy 
of  Dr.  Luther's  Appeal  to  His  Imperial  Majesty,  aud  to 
the  Christian  Nobility  of  the  German  nation,  on  the  Ko 
formation  of  Christendom.  Presenting  it  to  our  grand 
mother,  he  said, — 

"  Here,  madam,  is  a  weapon  worthy  of  the  bravest  daya 
of  the  Schonbergs,  mighty  to  the  pulling  down  of  strong- 
holds." 

"  Ah,"  sighed  our  mother,  "  always  wars  and  fightings ! 
It  is  a  pity  the  good  work  cannot  be  done  more  quietly." 

"Ah,  grandmother,"  said  my  father,  "only  see  how  her 
burgher-life  has  destroyed  the  heroic  spirit  of  her  crusad- 
ing ancestors.  She  thinks  that  the  Holy  Places  are  to  be 
won  back  from  the  infidels  without  a  blow,  only  by  beg- 
ging their  pardon  and  kissing  the  hem  of  their  garments." 

"You  should  hear  Catherine  Krapp,  Dr.  Melancthona 
wife !  "  rejoined  our  mother ;  "  she  agrees  with  me  that 
these  are  terrible  times.  She  says  she  never  sees  the  doc- 
tor go  away  without  thinking  he  may  be  immured  in  some 
dreadful  dimgeon  before  they  meet  again." 

"But  remember,  dear  mother,"  I  said,  "your  fearo 
when  first  Dr.  Luther  assailed  Tetzel  and  his  indulgenceii 
three  years  ago !  And  who  has  gained  the  victory  there  \ 
Dr.  Martin  is  the  admiration  of  all  good  men  throughout 
Germany ;  and  poor  Tetzel,  despised  by  his  own  party, 
rebuked  by  the  legate,  died,  they  say,  of  a  broken  heart 
just  after  the  great  Leipsic  disputation," 

"  Popr  Tetzel !  "  said  my  mother,  "  his  indulgences 
could  not  bind  up  a  broken  heart.  I  shall  always  love  Dr. 
Luther  for  writing  him  a  letter  of  comfort  when  he  was 
dying,  despised  and  forsaken  even  by  his  own  party.  1 
trust  that  He  who  can  pardon  has  had  mercy  on  his  soul." 

"  Read   to   us,  Christoplier,"    said   our   grandmother  j 


292  TUR  isCHONBERO'COTTA  FAMILY. 

"your  jaother  Avoiild  rot  shrink  from  any  battle-fiuld  il 
there  were  wounds  there  which  her  iiands  coull  bind." 

"  No,"  said  Gottfried,  "  the  end  of  war  is  peace, — 
God's  peace,  based  on  his  truth.  Blessed  are  those  who  in 
the  struggle  never  lose  sight  of  the  end." 

Christopher  read,  not  without  interruption.  Many 
things  in  the  book  were  new  and  startling  to  most  of  us : — 

"  It  is  not  rashly,"  Dr.  Luther  began,  "  that  I,  a  man 
of  the  people,  undertake  to  address  your  lordships.  The 
Avretchedness  and  oppression  that  now  overwhelm  all  the 
states  of  Christendom,  and  Germany  in  particular,  force 
from  me  a  cry  of  distress.  I  am  constrained  to  call  for 
help ;  I  must  see  whether  God  will  not  bestow  his  Sj)irit 
on  some  man  belonging  to  our  country,  and  stretch  forth 
his  hand  to  our  unhappy  nation." 

Dr.  Luther  never  seems  to  think  he  is  to  do  the  great 
work.  He  speaks  as  if  he  were  only  fulfilling  some  plain, 
numble  duty,  and  calling  other  men  to  undertake  the  great 
achievement ;  and  all  the  while  that  humble  duty  is  the 
great  achievement,  and  he  is  doing  it. 

Dr.  Lather  spoke  of  the  wretchedness  of  Italy,  the  un- 
happy land  where  the  Pope's  throne  is  set,  her  ruined  mon- 
asteries, her  decayed  cities,  her  corrupted  people;  and 
then  he  showed  how  Roman  avarice  and  pride  were  seek- 
ing to  reduce  Germany  to  a  state  as  enslaved.  He  appealed 
to  the  young  emperor,  Charles,  soon  about  to  be  crowned. 
He  reminded  all  the  rulers  of  their  responsibilities.  He 
declared  that  the  papal  territory,  called  the  patrimony  of 
St.  Peter,  was  the  fruit  of  robbery.  Generously  holding 
out  his  hand  to  the  very  outcasts  his  enemies  had  sought  to 
insult  him  most  grievously  by  comparing  him  with,  he  said  : 

"  It  is  time  that  we  were  considering  the  cause  of  the 
Bohemians,  and  re-uniting  ourselves  to  them." 

At  these  words  my  grandmother  dropped  her  work,  and 
fervently  clasping  her  hands,  leant  forward,  and  fixing  hei 


ELSE'S  STORT.  ac;; 

eyes  on  Cliristoplier,  drank  in  every  word  with  intense 
eagerness. 

When  he  came  U  the  denunci'ation  of  the  begging  friars, 
and  the  recommendation  that  the  parish  priests  should 
many,  Christoplier  interrupted  himself  by  an  enthusiastic 
"  vivat." 

When,  however,  after  a  vivid  picture  of  the  oppressions 
and  avarice  of  the  legates,  came  the  solemn  abjuration : — • 

"  Hearest  thou  this,  O  Pope,  not  most  holy,  but  most 
fiinful  ?  May  God  from  the  heights  of  his  heaven  sook 
hurl  thy  throne  into  the  abyss  !  "  my  mother  turned  pu!e 
and  crossed  herself. 

What  impressed  me  most  was  tne  plain  declaration : — 

"  It  has  been  alleged  that  the  Pope,  the  bishops,  the 
priests,  and  the  monks  and  nuns  form  the  estate  spiritual 
or  ecclesiastical ;  while  the  princes,  nobles,  burgesses,  and 
peasantry  form  the  secular  estate  or  laity.  Let  no  man, 
however,  be  alarmed  at  this.  All  Christians  constitute  the 
spiritual  estate ;  and  the  only  difference  among  them  is  that 
of  the  functions  which  they  discharge.  We  have  all  one 
baptism,  one  faith,  and  it  is  this  which  constitutes  the 
spiritual  man." 

If  this  is  indeed  true,  how  many  of  my  old  difficulties  it 
removes  with  a  stroke !  All  callings,  then,  may  be  religious 
callings ;  all  men  and  women  of  a  religious  oi'der.  Then 
my  mother  is  truly  and  undoubtedly  as  much  treading  the 
way  appointed  her  as  Aunt  Agnes  ;  and  the  monastic  life 
IS  only  one  among  callings  equally  sacred. 

When  I  said  tliis  to  my  motlier,  slie  said,  "I  as  religious 
a  woman  as  Aunt  Agnes !  No,  Else !  whatever  Dr.  Lu- 
ther ventures  to  declare,  he  would  not  say  that.  I  do 
sometimes  have  a  hope  that  for  his  dear  Son's  sake  God 
hears  even  my  poor  feeble  prayers ;  but  to  pray  night  and 
day,  and  abandon  all  for  God,  like  my  siitei'  Agues,  that  is 
ancthet  thing  altogether." 


294  TEE  SCnONBBRG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Bnt  when,  as  we  crossed  the  street  to  our  home,  I  told 
(^ottfried  how  much  those  words  o^  Dr.  Luther  had 
touched  me,  and  asked  if  he  really  thought  we  in  our 
secular  calling  wert)  not  only  doing  our  work  by  a  kind  of 
indirect  permission,  but  by  a  direct  vocation  from  God,  he 
replied, — 

"  My  doubt,  Else,  is  whether  the  vocation  which  leads 
men  to  abandon  home  is  from  God  at  all ;  whether  it  has 
either  his  command  or  even  his  permission." 

But  if  Gottfried  is  right,  Fritz  has  sacrificed  his  life  to  a 
delusion.  How  can  I  believe  that  ?  And  yet  if  he  could 
perceive  it,  how  life  might  change  for  him  !  IMight  he  not 
even  yet  be  restored  to  us  ?     But  I  am  dreaming. 

October  25,  1520. 

MORE  and  more  burning  Avords  from  Dr.  Luther. 
To-day  we  have  been  reading  his  new  book  on  the 
Babylonish  Captivity.  "  God  has  said,"  he  writes  in  this, 
"  '  Whosoever  shall  believe  and  be  baptized  shall  be  saved.' 
On  this  promise,  if  we  receive  it  with  faith,  hangs  our 
whole  salvation.  If  we  believe,  our  heart  is  fortified  by 
the  divine  promise ;  ^nd  although  all  should  forsake  the 
believer,  this  promise  which  he  believes  will  never  forsake 
him.  With  it  he  will )  esist  the  adversary  who  rushes  upoii 
his  soul,  and  will  hy  re  wherewithal  to  answer  pitiless 
death,  and  even  the  jc  igment  of  God."  And  he  says  in 
another  place,  "The  yow  made  at  our  baptism  is  sufticient 
of  itself,  and  comprf/^Buds  more  than  we  can  ever  accom- 
plish. Hence  u,)\  ot'e^v  vows  maybe  abolished.  Whoever 
enters  the  pritP.s'Aovd  or  any  religious  order,  let  him  well 
understand  thst  tVc  works  of  a  monk  or  of  a  priest,  how- 
ever difficult  they  may  be,  differ  in  no  respect  in  the  sight 
of  God  from  those  of  a  countryman  who  tills  the  ground, 
or  of  a  woman  who  conducts  a  household.  God  \alues  all 
things  by  the  standard  of  faith.     And  it  often  happen*" 


ELSE'S  STORY.  29J 

tliat  the  simple  labour  of  a  male  or  female  servant  is  mor« 
agreeable  to  God  than  the  fasts  and  the  works  of  a  rnouk, 
because  in  these  faith  is  wanting." 

What  a  consecration  this  thought  gives  to  my  common- 
est duties !  Yes,  when  I  am  directing  the  maids  in  their 
work,  or  sharing  Gottfried's  cares,  or  simply  ti'ying  to 
jrighten  his  home  at  the  end  of  the  busy  day,  or  lulling 
my  children  to  sleep,  can  I  indeed  be  serving  God  as  much 
as  Dr,  Luther  at  the  altar  or  in  his  lecture-room  ?  I  algo, 
then,  have  indeed  my  vocation  direct  from  God. 

How  could  I  ever  have  thought  the  mere  publication  of 
a  book  would  have  been  an  event  to  stir  our  hearts  like  the 
arrival  of  a  friend !  Yet  it  is  even  thus  with  every  one  of 
those  pamphlets  of  Dr.  Luther's.  They  move  the  whole 
of  our  two  households,  from  our  grandmother  to  Thekla, 
and  even  the  little  maid,  to  whom  I  read  portions.  She 
says,  with  tears,  "  If  the  mother  and  father  could  hear 
this  in  the  forest !  "  Students  and  burghers  have  not 
patience  to  Avait  till  they  reach  home,  but  read  the  heart 
stirring  pages  as  they  walk  through  the  streets.  And 
often  an  audience  collects  aroimd  some  communicative 
reader,  who  cannot  be  content  with  keei^ing  the  free, 
liberating  truths  to  himself. 

Already,  Christopher  says,  four  thousand  copies  of  the 
"  Appeal  to  the  Nobility,"  are  circulating  through  Ger- 
many. 

I  always  thought  before  of  books  as  the  peculiar  piojr- 
nty  of  the  learned.  But  Dr.  Luther's  books  are  a  living 
roice, — a  heart  God  has  awakened  and  taught,  speaking  to 
countless  lif^arts  as  a  man  talketh  with  his  friend.  I  can 
indeed  see  now,  with  my  father  and  Christopher,  that  the 
printing-press  is  a  nobler  weapon  than  even  the  speai'S  and 
broadswords  of  our  knightly  Bohemian  anceeiors. 


2g6  THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Wittenberg,  Decetinher  10,  1520, 

DR.  LUTHER  has  taken  a  great  step  to-day.  He  haa 
publicly  burned  the  Decretals,  with  other  ancient 
writings,  on  which  the  claims  of  the  Court  of  Rome  are 
founded,  but  which  are  now  declared  to  be  forgeries ;  and 
viore  than  this,  he  has  burnt  the  Pope's  bull  of  excommu- 
lication  against  himself. 

Gottfried  says  that  for  centuries  such  a  bonfire  as  thia 
has  not  been  seen.  He  thinks  it  means  nothing  less  than 
an  open  and  deliberate  renunciation  of  the  papal  tyranny 
wliich  for  so  many  hundred  years  has  held  the  whole  of 
western  Christendom  in  bondage.  He  took  our  two  boys 
to  see  it,  that  we  may  remind  them  of  it  in  after  years  as 
the  first  great  public  act  of  freedom. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  town  was  astir.  Many  of  the 
burghers,  professors,  and  students  knew  what  was  about 
to  be  done ;  for  this  was  no  deed  of  impetuous  haste  or 
angry  vehemence. 

I  dressed  the  children  early,  and  we  went  to  my  father's 
house. 

Wittenberg  is  as  full  now  of  people  of  various  lan- 
guages as  the  tower  of  Babel  must  have  been  after  the 
confusion  of  tongues.  But  never  was  this  more  manifest 
than  to-day. 

Flemish  monks  from  the  Augustine  cloisters  at  Antwerp ; 
Dutch  students  from  Finland;  Swiss  youths,  with  their 
erect  forms  and  free  mountain  gait ;  knights  from  Prussia 
Rud  Lithuania  ;  strangers  even  from  quite  foreign  lands, — 
all  attracted  hither  by  Dr.  Luther's  living  words  of  truth 
/>assod  under  our  windows  about  nine  o'clock  this  morn 
i.ng,  in  the  direction  of  the  Elster  gate,  eagejly  gesticulat- 
ing and  talking  as  they  went,  Trien  Thekla,  Atlantis,  and 
I  mounted  to  an  upper  room,  and  watched  the  smoke  ris 
ing  from  X\\^  pile,  until  the  glare  of  the  conflagration  burst 
thr-mgli  it,  and  stained  with  a  faint  red  the  pure  dayliglit 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


297 


Soon  afterwards  the  crowds  began  to  retnrn ;  bnt  there 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  gravity  and  solemnity  in  tlie  mannei 
of  most,  different  from  the  eager  haste  wdth  which  they 
had  gone  forth. 

"  They  seem  like  men  returning  from  some  great  Church 
festival,"  I  said. 

"Or  from  the  lighting  a  signal-fire  on  the  mountains, 
which  shall  wake  the  whole  land  to  freedom,"  said  Chris- 
topher, as  they  rejoined  us. 

"  Or  from  binding  themselves  with  a  solemn  oath  to 
liberate  their  homes,  like  the  Three  Men  at  Gruth,"  said 
Conrad  Winkelried,  the  young  Swiss  to  whom  Atlantis  ia 
betrothed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gottfried,  "  fires  which  may  be  the  beacons 
of  a  woi'ld's  deliverance,  and  may  kindle  the  death-piles 
of  those  Avho  dared  to  light  them,  are  no  mere  students' 
bravado." 

"  Who  did  the  deed,  and  what  was  burned  ?"  I  asked. 

"  One  of  the  masters  of  arts  lighted  the  pile,"  my  hus- 
band replied,  "  and  then  threw  on  it  the  Decretals,  the 
false  Epistles  of  St.  Clement,  and  other  forgeries,  which 
have  propped  up  the  edifice  of  lies  for  centviries.  And 
when  the  flames  which  coiisumed  them  liad  done  their 
work  and  died  away.  Dr.  Luther  himself,  stepping  foi' 
ward,  solemnly  laid  the  Pope's  bull  of  excommunication 
on  the  fire,  saying  amidst  the  breathless  silence,  '  As  thou 
hast  troubled  the  Lord's  saints,  may  the  eternal  fire  de- 
stroy thee.'  Not  a  Avord  broke  the  silence  until  the  last 
crackle  and  gleam  of  tliose  symbolical  flames  had  ceased,  and 
tlien  gravely  but  joyfully  we  all  returned  to  our  homes." 

"  Children,"  said  our  grandmother,  "  you  have  done 
well;  yet  you  are  not  the  first  that  have  defied  Home." 

"Nor  perhaps  the  last  she  will  silence,"  said  my  hus- 
band. "  But  the  last  enemy  a\  ill  be  destroyed  at  last;  an<7 
meant  im<^  every  martyr  is  a  victor." 


2g8  THE  SCEONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

EVA'S   STORY. 

¥  IIA^rE  read  the  whole  of  the  New  Testament  through 
J  to  Sister  Beatrice  and  Aunt  Agnes.  Strangely  dif- 
tbi'ent  auditors  they  were  in  powers  of  mind  and  in  expe- 
rience of  life ;  yet  both  met,  like  so  many  in  his  days  on 
earth,  at  the  feet  of  Jesus. 

"  He  would  not  have  despised  me,  even  me,"  Sister 
Beati'ice  would  say.  "  Poor,  fond  creature,  half-witted  or 
naif-crazed,  they  call  me;  but  he  would  have  welcomed 
me." 

"  Does  he  not  welcome  you  ?"  I  said. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Yes,  I  think — I  am  sure  he  does.  My 
poor  broken  bits  and  remnants  of  sense  and  love,  he  will 
not  despise  them.     He  will  take  me  as  I  am." 

One  day  when  I  had  been  reading  to  them  the  chapter 
in  St.  Luke  with  the  parables  of  the  lost  money,  the  lost 
sheep,  and  the  prodigal.  Aunt  Agnes,  resting  her  cheek  on 
her  thin  hand,  and  fixing  her  large  dark  eyes  on  me,  list- 
ened with  intense  expectation  to  the  end  ;  and  then  she 
said, — 

"  Is  that  all,  my  child  1     Begin  the  next  chapter." 

I  began  about  the  rich  man  and  the  unjust  steward ;  but 
before  I  had  read  many  words — 

"  That  will  do,"  she  said  in  a  disappointed  tone.  "  It  is 
another  subject.  Then  not  one  of  the  Pharisees  came, 
.-.fter  all !  If  I  had  been  there  among  the  hard,  proud 
i''*harisees — as  I  might  have  been  when  he  began,  wonder- 
uig,  no  doubt,  that  he  could  so  forget  himself  as  to  eat 
.f  ith  publicans  and  sinners — if  I  had  been  there,  and  had 
aeard  him  speak  thus,  Eva,  I  must  have  fallen  at  his  feet 
.*nd  said,  'Lord,  I  am  a  Pharisee  no  more — I  am  the  lost 
Bheep,  not  one  of  the  ninety  and  nine — the  wandering 
-jhild,  not  the  elder  brother.  Place  me  low,  low  among 
the  publicans- and  sinnerg — lower  than  any;  but  only  sa} 


EVA  'S  STORY. 


299 


thou  earnest  also  to  seek  me,  even  me.''  And,  child,  he 
•would  not  have  sent  me  away.  But,  Eva,"  she  added 
aft-er  a  pause,  wiping  away  the  tears  which  ran  slowly 
over  her  withered  cheeks,  "is  it  not  said  anywhere  that 
one  Pharisee  came  to  him  ?" 

I  looked,  and  could  find  it  nowhere  stated  positively 
that  one  Pharisee  had  abandoned  his  pride,  and  self-right- 
eousness, and  treasures  of  good  works  for  Jesus.  It. 
seemed  all  on  the  side  of  the  publicans.  Aimt  Agnes  was 
at  times  distressed. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said,  "  I  have  come.  I  am  no  longer 
among  those  who  think  themselves  righteous  and  despise 
others.  But  I  must  come  in  behind  all.  It  is  I,  not  the 
woman  who  was  a  sinner,  who  am  the  miracle  of  his  grace ; 
iVtr  since  no  sin  so  keeps  men  from  him  as  spiritual  pride, 
there  can  be  no  sin  so  degrading  in  the  sight  of  the  pure 
and  humble  angels,  or  of  the  Lord.  But  look  again,  Eva ! 
Is  there  not  one  instance  of  such  as  I  being  saved  ?" 

I  found  the  history  of  Nicodemus,  and  we  traced  it 
through  the  Gospel  from  the  secret  visit  to  the  popular 
Teacher  at  night,  to  the  oj^en  confession  of  the  rejected 
Saviour  before  his  enemies. 

Aunt  Agnes  thought  this  might  be  the  example  sh« 
sought ;  but  she  wished  to  be  quite  sure. 

"  Nicodemus  came  in  humility  to  learn,"  she  said.  "  We 
I  ever  read  that  he  despised  others,  or  thought  he  could 
make  himself  a  saint." 

At  length  we  came  to  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and 
there,  indeed,  we  found  the  history  of  one,  "  of  the  strait- 
est  sect,  a  Pharisee,"  who  verily  thought  himself  doing 
God  service  by  persecuting  the  despised  Nazarenes  to 
death.  And  from  that  time  Aunt  Agnes  sought  out  and 
cherished  every  fragment  of  St.  Paul's  history,  and  every 
Bontence  of  his  sermons  and  writings.  She  had  found  the 
example  she  sought  of  the    'Pharisee  who  was  sav^d"- 


joo  TEE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

in  him  T\'ho  obtained  mercy,  "that  in  liim  first  God  miglt 
shoAV  forth  the  riclies  of  his  long-suffering  to  those  who 
thereafter  throiigh  his  word,  should  believe." 

She  determined  to  learn  Latin,  that  she  might  read  these 
divine  words  for  herself.  It  was  affecting  to  see  her  sit- 
ting among  the  novices  whom  I  taught,  carefully  spelling 
out  the  words,  and  repeating  the  declensions  and  conjuga 
tions.  I  had  no  such  patient  pupil ;  for  although  many 
were  eager  ^it  first,  not  a  few  relaxed  after  a  few  weeks' 
toil,  not  finding  the  results  very  apparent,  and  said  it 
would  never  sound  so  natural  and  true  as  when  Sister  Ave 
translated  it  for  them  into  German. 

I  wish  some  learned  man  would  translate  the  Bible  into 
German.  Why  does  not  some  one  think  of  it  ?  There  is 
one  German  translation  from  the  Latin,  the  prioress  says, 
made  about  thirty  or  forty  years  ago ;  but  it  is  very  large 
and  costly,  and  not  in  language  that  attracts  simple  peo- 
ple. I  wish  the  Pope  would  spend  some  of  the  money 
from  the  indulgences  on  a  new  translation  of  the  New 
Testament.  I  think  it  would  please  God  much  more  than 
building  St.  Peter's. 

Perhaps,  however,  if  people  had  the  German  New  Test- 
ament they  would  not  buy  the  indulgences ;  for  in  all  the 
Gospels  and  Epistles  I  cannot  find  one  word  about  buying 
pardons ;  and,  what  is  more  strange,  not  a  word  about 
adoring  the  Blessed  Virgin,  or  about  nunneries  or  monao- 
teries.  I  cannot  see  that  the  holy  apostles  founded  ono 
such  community,  or  recommended  any  one  to  do  so. 

Indeed,  there  is  so  much  in  the  New  Testament,  and  rn 
ivhat  I  have  read  of  the  Old,  about  not  worshipping  any 
on  3  but  God,  that  I  have  quite  given  up  saying  any  pray- 
ers to  the  Blessed  Mother,  for  many  reasons. 

In  the  first  place,  I  am  much  more  sure  that  our 
Lord  can  hear  us  always  than  his  mother,  because  he  so 
often  says  so      And  I  am  much  more  sure  be  can  help,  bo 


BVA'a  STOltr.  ^o\ 

nause  I  unow  aJl  power  is  given  to  him  in  heaven  and  iti 
earth 

And  in  the  next  place,  if  I  were  quite  sure  that  thy 
blessed  Virgin  and  the  saints  could  hear  me  always,  and 
could  help  or  would  intercede,  I  am  sure  also  that  no  one 
among  them — not  the  Holy  Mother  herself— is  half  sc 
compassionate  and  full  of  love,  or  could  understand  us  so 
•well,  as  he  Avho  died  for  us.  In  the  Gospels,  he  was  al- 
ways more  accessible  than  the  disciples.  St.  Peter  might 
be  impatient  in  the  impetuosity  of  his  zeal.  Loving  indio-- 
nation  might  overbalance  the  forbearance  of  St.  John  the 
beloved,  and  he  might  wish  for  fire  from  heaven  on  those 
who  refused  to  receive  his  Master.  All  the  holy  apostles 
rebuked  the  poor  mothers  who  brought  their  children,  and 
would  have  sent  away  the  woman  of  Canaan  ;  but  he  ten- 
derly took  the  little  ones  into  his  arms  from  the  arms  of 
the  mothers  the  disciples  had  rebuked.  His  patience  was 
never  wearied ;  he  never  misunderstood  or  discouraged 
any  one.  Therefore  I  pray  to  him  and  our  Father  in  hea- 
veh  alone,  and  through  him  alone.  Because  if  he  is  more 
pitiful  to  sinners  than  all  the  saints,  which  of  all  the  sahits 
can  be  beloved  of  God  as  he  is,  the  well-beloved  Son  ?  He 
seems  all ;  everything  in  every  circumstance  we  can  ever 
want.  Higher  mediation  we  cannot  find,  tenderer  love  we 
cannot  crave. 

And  very  sure  I  am  that  the  meek  Mother  of  the  Lord, 
the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved,  the  apostle  who  determined 
to  know  nothing  among  his  converts  save  Jesus  Christ, 
and  him  crucified,  will  not  regret  any  homage  transferred 
from  them  to  him. 

Nay,  rather,  if  the  blessed  Virgin  and  the  holy  apostles 
have  heard  how,  through  all  these  years,  such  grievous 
and  unjust  tilings  have  been  said  of  their  Lord;  how  his 
love  has  been  misunderstood,  and  he  has  been  represented 
B8  hard   to  be  entreated, — he  who  entreated  sinners  ta 


302  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

come  and  be  forgivea  ; — lias  not  thiti  been  enougli  to  sha^ 
dow  tlieir  happiness,  even  in  heaven? 

A  nun  has  lately  been  transferred  to  our  convent,  whc 
came  originally  from  Bohemia,  where  all  her  relatives  had 
been  slain  for  adhering  to  the  party  of  John  Huss,  the 
heretic.  She  is  much  older  than  I  am,  and  she  says  she 
remembers  well  the  name  of  my  family,  and  that  my  great- 
uncle,  Aunt  Agnes's  father,  died  a  heretic !  She  cannot 
tell  what  the  heresy  was,  but  she  believes  it  was  soi  (e- 
thing  about  the  blessed  sacrament  and  the  authority  of  t^'e 
Pope.  She  had  heard  that  otherwise  he  was  a  charitable 
and  holy  man. 

Was  my  father,  then,  a  Hussite  ? 

T  have  found  the  end  of  the  sentence  he  gave  me  as  his 
dying  legacy : — "  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 
only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  beKeveth  in  him  should 
not  jjerish,  hut  have  everlasting  lifeP  And  instead  of  being 
in  a  book  not  fit  for  Christian  children  to  read,  as  the 
piiest  who  took  it  from  me  said,  it  is  in  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures I 

Can  it  be  possible  that  the  world  has  come  round  again 
to  the  state  it  was  in  when  the  rulers  and  priests  put  the 
Saviour  to  death,  and  St.  Paul  persecuted  the  disciples  as 
heretics  ? 

NlMPTSCHEN,  1520. 

A  WONDERFUL  book  of  Dr.  Luther's  appeared 
among  us  a  i^y^f  weeks  since,  on  the  Babylonish 
Captivity  ;  and  although  it  was  taken  from  us  by  the 
authorities,  as  dangerous  reading  for  nuns,  this  was  not 
before  many  among  us  had  become  acquainted  with  its 
contents.  And  it  has  created  a  great  ferment  in  the  con^ 
vent.  Some  say  they  are  words  of  impious  blasphemy, 
some  say  they  are  words  of  living  truth.  He  speaks  of 
the  forgiveness  of  sins  being  free;  of  the  ]*ope  and  many 


EVA'S  8T0R7.  303 

of  the  priests  being  the  enemies  of  the  truth  of  God ;  and 
of  the  life  and  calling  of  a  monk  or  mm  as  in  no  way  lioliei 
than  that  of  any  humble  believing  secular  man  or  woman, 
— a  nun  no  holier  than  a  wife  or  a  household  servant ! 

This  many  of  the  older  nuns  think  plain  blasphemy. 
Aunt  Agnes  says  it  is  true,  and  more  th:in  true ;  for,  from 
what  I  tell  her,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Aunt  Cotta  has 
been  a  lowlier  and  hoher  woman  all  her  life  than  she  can 
ever  hope  to  be. 

And  as  to  the  Bible  precepts,  they  certainly  seem  far 
more  adapted  to  people  living  in  homes  than  to  those  se- 
sluded  in  convents.  Often  when  I  am  teaching  the  young 
novices  the  precepts  in  the  Epistles,  they  say, — 

"  But  Sister  Ave,  find  some  precepts  for  us.  These  say- 
ings are  for  children,  and  wives,  and  mothers,  and  brotliers, 
and  sisters ;  not  for  those  who  -have  neither  home  nor  kin 
dred  on  earth." 

Then  if  I  try  to  speak  of  loving  God  and  the  blessed 
Saviour,  some  of  them  say, — 

'-But  we  cannot  bathe  his  feet  with  tears,  or  anoin 
them  with  ointment,  or  bring  him  food,  or  stand  by  hii^ 
cross,  as  the  good  women  did  of  old.     Shut  up  here,  away 
from  every  one,  how  can  we  show  him  that  we  love  him  ?" 

And  I  can  only  say,  "  Dear  sisters,  you  are  here  now ; 
therefore  surely  God  will  find  some  way  for  you  to  serve 
him  here."- 

But  my  heart  aches  for  them,  and  I  doubt  no  longer,  j 
feel  sure  God  can  never  have  meant  these  young,  joyous 
hearts  to  be  cramped  and  imprisoned  thus. 

Sometimes  I  talk  about  it  with  Aunt  Agues;  and  w» 
consider  whether,  if  these  vows  are  indeed  irrevocable, 
and  these  children  must  never  see  their  homes  again,  tho 
convent  could  not  one  day  be  removed  to  some  city,  wherp 
gick  and  suffering  men  and  women  toil  and  die;  so  that 
wo  might,  at  least,  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked,  and 


304  THE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

visit  and  minister  to  the  sick  and  sorrowful.  That  would 
be  life  once  more,  instead  of  this  monotonous  routine, 
which  is  not  so  much  death  as  mechanism — an  inanimate 
existence  Avhich  has  never  been  life. 

October,  1520. 

SISTER  BEATRICE  is  very  ill.  Aunt  Agnes  has  re- 
quested  as  an  especial  favour  to  be  allowed  to  share 
the  attending  on  her  with  me.  Never  was  gentler  nurse 
or  more  grateful  patient. 

It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  Aunt  Agnes  m.eekly  learning 
from  me  how  to  render  the  little  services  required  at  the 
sick-bed.  She  smiles,  and  says  her  feeble  blundering 
fingers  had  grown  into  mere  machines  for  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  prayer-books,  just  as  her  heart  was  hardening 
into  a  machine  for  saying  prayers.  Nino  of  the  young 
nuns,  Aunt  Agnes,  Sister  Beatrice,  and  I,  have  been  drawn 
very  closely  together  of  late.  Among  the  noblest  of  these 
is  Catharine  von  Bora,  a  young  nun,  about  twenty  years 
of  age.  There  is  such  truth  in  her  full  dark  eyes,  which 
look  so  kindly  and  frankly  into  mine,  and  such  character 
in  the  firmly-closed  mouth.  She  declines  learning  Latin, 
and  has  not  much  taste  for  learned  books  ;  but  she  has 
much  clear  practical  good  sense,  and  she,  with  many 
others,  delights  greatly  in  Dr.  Luther's  writings.  They 
say  they  are  not  books ;  they  are  a  living  voice.  Every 
fragment  of  information  I  can  give  them  about  the  doctor 
is  eagerly  received,  and  many  rumors  reach  us  of  his  influ- 
ence in  the  Avorld.  "When  he  was  near  Nimptschen,  two 
years  ago,  at  the  grfeat  Leipsic  disputation,  we  heard  that 
the  students  were  enthusiastic  about  him,  and  that  the 
common  people  seemed  to  drink  in  his  words  almost  as 
they  did  our  I,ord's  Avhen  he  spoke  upon  earth ;  and  what 
is  more,  that  the  lives  of  some  men  and  women  at  tha 
eourt  have  been  entirely  changed  since  they  had   heard 


ElfA  '5  STORY. 


305 


him.  We  were  told  he  had  been  the  means  of  wonderful 
conversions ;  but  what  was  strange  in  these  conversions 
was,  that  those  so  changed  did  not  abandon  their  position 
in  life,  bui  only  their  sins,  remaining  where  they  were 
when  God  called  them,  and  distinguished  from  others,  not 
by  a  veil  or  cowl,  but  by  the  light  of  holy  works. 

On  the  other  hand,  many,  especially  among  the  oldei 
nuns,  have  I'eceived  quite  contrary  impressions,  and  regard 
Dr.  Luthei  as  a  heretic,  Avorse  than  any  one  who  ever  rent 
the  Church  These  look  very  suspiciously  on  us,  and  sub- 
ject lis  to  many  annoyances,  hindering  our  conversing  and 
reading  together  as  much  as  possible. 

We  do,  indeed,  many  of  us  wonder  that  Dr.  Luther 
should  use  such  fierce  -and  harsh  words  against  the  Pope's 
servants.  Yet  St.  Paul  even  "could  have  wished  that 
those  were  cut  off"  that  troubled  his  flock ;  and  the  very 
lips  of  divine  love  launched  woes  against  hypocrites  and 
false  shepherds  seA-erer  than  any  that  the  Baptist  or  Elijah 
ever  uttered  in  their  denunciations  from  the  wilderness. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  hearts  which  are  tenderest  towards 
the  wandering  sheep  will  ever  be  severest  against  the  se- 
ducing shepherds  who  lead  them  astray.  Only  Ave  need 
always  to  remember  that  these  very  false  shepherds  them- 
selves are,  after  all,  but  wretched  lost  sheep,  driven  hither 
and  thither  by  the  great  robber  of  the  fold. 

1521, 

JUST  now  the  hearts  of  the  little  band  among  us  who 
owe  so  much  to  Dr.  Luther  are  lifted  up  night  and 
day  in  prayer  to  God  for  him.  Hfe  is  soon  to  be  on  his 
way  to  the  Imperial  Diet  at  Worms.  lie  has  the  Empe- 
ror's safe-conduct,  but  it  is  said  this  did  not  saA'e  John 
Huss  from  tlie  flames.  In  our  prayers  we  are  much  aided 
by  his  own  Commentary  on  the  Book  of  Psalms,  which  I 
have  just  received  from  Uncle  Cotta's  printing-press. 


,o6  THE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

This  is  now  Sister  Beatrice's  great  treasure,  as  T  &it  "by 
her  bedside  and  read  it  to  her. 

He  says  that  "  the  mere  frigid  use  of  the  Psalms  in  th*. 
canonical  hours,  though  little  understood,  brought  some 
sweetness  of  the  breath  of  life  to  humble  hearts  of  old, 
like  the  faint  fragrance  in  the  air  not  far  fi-cra  «i  bed  of 
roses." 

He  says,  "  All  other  books  give  us  the  words  and  deeds 
of  the  saints,  but  this  gives  us  their  inmost  souls."  He 
calls  the  Psalter  "the  little  Bible."  "There,"  he  says, 
"  you  may  look  into  the  hearts  of  the  saints  as  into  para- 
dise, or  into  the  opened  heavens,  and  see  the  fair  flowers 
or  the  shining  stars,  as  it  Avere,  of  their  affections  spring- 
ing or  beaming  uj)  to  God,  in  response  to  his  benefits  and 
blessings. 

March,  1521. 

NEWS  has  reached  me  to-day  from  Wittenberg  which 
makes  me  feel  indeed  that  the  days  when  people 
deem  they  do  God  service  by  persecuting  those  who  love 
him,  are  too  truly  come  back.  Thekla  writes  me  that 
they  have  thrown  Fritz  into  the  convent  prison  at  Mainz, 
for  spreading  Dr.  Luther's  doctrine  among  the  monks.  A 
few  lines  sent  through  a  friendly  monk  have  told  them  of 
this.     She  sent  them  on  to  me. 

"  My  beloved  ones,"  he  writes,  "  I  am  in  the  prison 
where,  forty  years  ago,  John  of  Wesel  died  for  the  truth. 
I  am  ready  to  die  if  God  wills  it  so.  His  truth  is  worth 
dying  for,  and  his  love  will  strengthen  me.  But  if  I  can 
I  win  escape,  for  the  truth  is  worth  living  for.  If,  how- 
ever, you  do  not  hear  of  me  again,  know  that  the  truth  I 
died  for  is  Christ  s,  and  that  the  love  which  sustained  me 
IS  Christ  himself  And  likewise,  that  to  the  last  I  pray 
for  you  all,  and  for  Eva ;  and  tell  her  that  the  thought  oi 
her  has  helped  mo  often  to  believe  in  goodness  and  truth 


EVA' 8  STORY.  307 

■ta  ^  liiat  I  look  assuredly  to  meet  her  and  all  of  you  again, 

FlvOiDRICH    ScnONBEEG-COTTA." 

Ihvs  prison  ! — death  itself  cannot  more  completely  sep 
arate  ^ritz  and  me.  Indeed,  of  death  itself  I  have  often 
thought  as  bringing  us  a  step  nearer,  rending  one  veil 
between  ns.  Yet,  now  that  it  seems  so  possible, — that 
perhaps  it  has  already  come  — I  feel  there  was  a  kind  of 
indefinable  sweetness  in  being  only  on  the  same  earth 
together,  in  treading  the  same  pilgrim  way.  At  least  we 
could  help  each  other  by  prayer ;  and  now,  if  he  is  indeed 
treading  the  streets  of  the  heavenly  city,  so  high  above, 
the  world  does  seem  darker. 

But,  alas  !  he  may  not  be  in  the  heavenly  city,  but  in 
Bome  cold  earthly  dungeon,  suffering  I  know  not  what ! 

I  have  read  the  words  over  and  over,  until  I  have  almost 
lost  their  meaning.  He  has  no  morbid  desire  to  die.  He 
will  *»scape  if  he  can,  and  he  is  daring  enough  to  accom- 
plish much.  And  yet,  if  the  danger  were  not  great,  je 
would  not  alarm  Aunt  Cotta  with  even  the  possibility  01 
death.     He  always  considered  others  so  tenderly. 

He  says  I  have  h<^^'^ed  him,  him  who  taught  and  helped 
me,  a  poor  ignorant  child,  so  raucli !  Yet  I  suppose  it 
may  be  so.  It  teaches  us  so  much  to  teach  others.  And 
we  always  undei-stood  each  other  so  perfectly  with  so  few 
wordfe.  I  feel  as  if  blindness  had  fallen  on  me  when  I 
think  of  him  now.  My  heart  gropes  about  in  the  dark 
juid  caanot  find  him. 

But  then  I  look  up,  my  Saviour,  to  thee.  '*  To  thee  the 
night  and  the  day  are  both  alike."  I  dare  not  think  he  ia 
Buft'er  ng  ;  it  breaks  my  heart.  I  cannot  rejoice  as  I  would 
in  th.nking  he  may  be  in  heaven.  I  know  not  what  to 
ask,  but  thou  art  Avith  him  as  with  me.  Keep  him  close 
tuider  the  shadow  of  tliy  wing.  There  we  are  safe,  and 
thert  we  are  togfethei-.  And  oh,  cDinfort  Aunt  Cotta 
She  must  need  it  sorely. 


3o8  THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Fritz,  then,  like  our  little  company  at  Nimptschen,  loves 
the  words  of  Dr.  Luther.  When  I  think  of  this  I  rejoice 
almost  more  than  I  weep  for  him.  Tliese  truths  believed 
in  our  hearts  seem  to  unite  us  more  than  prison  or  death 
can  divide.  When  I  think  of  this  I  can  sing  once  more 
St.  Bernard's  hymn  : — 


SALVE    CAPUT   CRUENTATUM. 

Hail  1  thou  Head,  so  bruised  and  woundcl 
With  the  crown  of  thorns  surrounded, 
Smitten  with  the  mocking  reed. 
Wounds  which  may  not  cease  to  bleed 

Trickling  faint  and  slow. 
Hail !  from  whose  most  blessed  brow 
"Voue  can  wipe  the  blood-drops  now  ; 
All  the  bloom  of  life  has  fled, 
Mortal  paleness  there  instead  ; 
Thou  before  whose  presence  dread 

Angels  trembling  bow. 

All  thy  vigour  and  thy  life 
F.ading  in  this  bitter  strife ; 
Death  his  stamp  on  thee  has  set, 
HoUow  and  emaciate, 

Faint  and  drooping  there. 
Thou  this  agony  and  scorn 
Hast  for  me  a  sinner  borne  1 
Me,  unworthy,  all  for  me  1 
With  those  wounds  of  love  on  thos, 

Glorious  Face,  appear  I 

Yet  in  this  thine  agony. 
Faithful  Shepherd,  think  of  me, 
From  whose  lips  of  love  divine 
Sweetest  draughts  of  life  are  mioe, 
Purest  honey  flows ; 


EVA 'S  STOST. 

All  unw«  rtby  of  thy  thought, 
Guilty,  yet  reject  me  not ; 
Unto  me  thy  head  incline, — 
Let  that  dying  head  of  thine 
In  my  arms  repose  I 

Let  me  true  communion  know 
With  thee  in  thy  sacred  woe. 
Counting  all  beside  but  dross. 
Dying  with  thee  on  thy  cross  ;— 

'Neath  it  will  I  die  I 
Thanks  to  thee  with  every  breath 
Jesus,  for  thy  bitter  death ; 
Grant  thy  guilty  one  this  prayefT: 
When  my  dying  hour  is  near. 

Gracious  God,  be  nigh  1 

When  my  dying  hour  must  bo, 
Be  not  absent  then  from  me ; 
In  that  dreadful  hour,  I  pray, 
Jesus  come  without  delay  ; 

See,  and  set  me  free  1 
When  thou  biddest  me  depart. 
Whom  I  cleave  to  with  my  heafi, 
liorer  of  my  soul,  be  near. 
With  thy  saving  cross  appear,— 

Show  thyself  to  me  1 


XY. 


THEKLA'S    STORY, 


"Wittenberg,  April  2,  1521. 

|R.  LUTHER  is  gone.     We  all  feel  Hke  a  famU^ 

bereaved  of  our  father. 

The  professors  and  chief  burghers,  with  nuni-< 

bers  of  the  students,  gathered  around  the  dooi* 
of  the  Augustinian  Convent  this  morning  to  bid  him  fare- 
well. Gottfried  Reichenbach  was  near  as  he  entered  the 
carriage,  and  heard  him  say,  as  he  turned  to  Melancthon, 
in  a  faltering  voice,  "  Should  I  not  return,  and  should  my 
enemies  put  me  to  death,  O  my  brother,  cease  not  to  teach 
and  to  abide  steadfastly  in  the  truth.  Labour  in  my  place, 
for  I  shall  not  be  able  to  labour  myself.  If  you  be  spared 
it  matters  little  that  I  perish." 

And  so  he  drove  off.  And  a  few  mmutes  after,  we,  who 
were  waiting  at  the  door,  saw  him  pass.  He  did  not 
forget  to  smile  at  Else  and  her  little  ones,  or  to  give  a 
word  of  fai-ewell  to  our  dear  blind  father  as  he  passed  us. 
But  there  was  a  grave  steadfastness  in  his  countenance  that 
made  our  hearts  full  of  anxiety.  As  the  usher  with  the 
imperial  standard  who  preceded  him,  and  then  Dr.  Luther's 
carriage,  disappeared  round  a  corner  of  the  street,  our 
grandmother,  whose  chair  had  been  placed  at  the  door 
that  she  might  see  him  pass,  murmuj-ed,  as  if  to  herself, — 

(310) 


TEEKLA'8  STOUT. 


3i» 


*'  Yes,  it  was  with  just  such  a  look  they  went  to  the 
Bcaftbld  and  tlie  stake  when  I  was  young." 

I  could  see  little,  my  eyes  were  so  blinded  Avith  tears ; 
and  when  our  grandniother  said  this,  I  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  but  rtuVi  up  to  my  room,  and  here  I  have  been  ever 
since.  IVly  mother  and  Else  and  all  of  them  say  I  have  no 
control  over  my  feelings ;  aud  I  am  afraid  I  have  not. 
But  It  seems  to  me  as  if  every  one  I  lean  my  heart  on 
were  always  taken  away.  First  there  was  Eva.  She 
always  understood  me,  helped  me  to  understand  myself; 
did  not  laugh  at  my  perplexities  as  childish,  did  not  think 
my  over-eagerness  was  always  temper,  but  met  ray  blun- 
deruig  efforts  to  do  right.  Difierent  as  she  was  from  me 
(different  as  an  angel  from  poor  bewildered  blundering 
giant  Christopher  in  Else's  old  legend),  she  always  seemed 
to  come  down  to  my  level  and  see  my  difficulties  from 
where  I  stood,  and  so  helped  me  over  them ;  whilst  every 
one  else  sees  them  from  above,  and  wonders  any  one  can 
think  such  trifles  troubles  at  all.  Not,  indeed,  that  my 
dear  mother  and  Else  are  proud,  or  mean  to  look  down  on 
any  one ;  but  Else  is  so  unselfish,  her  whole  life  is  so  bound 
up  in  others,  that  she  does  not  know  what  more  wilful 
natures  have  to  contend  with.  Besides,  she  is  now  out  of 
the  immediate  circle  pf  our  everyday  life  at  home.  Then 
our  mother  is  so  gentle ;  she  is  frightened  to  think  whai 
sorrows  life  may  bring  me  Avith  the  changes  that  musi 
come,  if  little  things  give  me  such  joy  or  grief  now.  I 
knoAV  she  feels  for  me  often  more  than  she  dares  to  let  me 
see ;  but  she  is  always  thinking  of  arming  me  for  the  trials 
dhe  believes  must  come,  by  teaching  me  to  be  less  vehe- 
ment and  passionate  about  trifles  now.  But  I  am  afraid 
it  is  useless.  I  think  every  creature  must  suffer  according 
to  its  nature ;  and  if  God  has  made  our  capacity  for  joy  or 
BorroAV  deej),  we  caimot  fill  up  the  channel  and  say, 
"  Henceforth  I  will  feel  so  far,  and  no  further."      The 


JI2 


THE  SGHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


witers  are  there, — soon  they  will  recover  for  themselves  tH€ 
old  choked  up  courses ;  and  menntime  they  will  overflow. 
Eva  also  used  to  say,  "  that  our  armour  must  grow  with 
our  growth,  and  our  strength  with  the  strength  of  our 
conflicts ;  and  that  there  is  only  one  shield  which  doe? 
lliis,  the  shield  of  faith, — a  living  daily  trust  in  a  living 
ever-present  God." 

But  Eva  went  away.  And  then  Nix  died.  I  suppose 
if  I  saw  any  child  now  mourning  over  a  dog  as  I  did  over 
Nix,  I  should  wonder  much  as  they  all  did  at  me  then. 
But  Nix  was  not  only  a  dog  to  me.  He  was  Eisenach 
and  my  cliildhood ;  and  a  whole  world  of  love  and  dreams 
seemed  to  die  for  me  with  Nix. 

To  all  the  rest  of  the  world  I  w  as  a  little,  vehement  girl 
of  fourteen;  to  Nix  I  was  mistress,  protector,  everything. 
It  was  weeks  before  I  could  bear  to  come  in  at  tlie  front 
door,  where  he  used  to  watch  for  me  with  his  wistful 
eyes,  and  bound  with  cries  of  joy  to  meet  me.  I  used  to 
creep  in  at  the  garden  gate. 

And  then  Nix's  death  was  the  first  approach  of  Death 
to  me,  and  tlse  dreadful  power  was  no  less  a  power  because 
its  shadow  fell  first  for  me  on  a  faithful  dog.  I  began 
dimly  to  feel  that  life,  which  before  that  seemed  to  be  a 
mountain-path  abvays  mounting  and  mounting  through 
golden  mists  to  I  know  not  what  heights  of  beauty  and 
joy,  did  not  end  on  the  heights,  but  in  a  dark  unfathomed 
abyss,  and  that  however  dim  its  course  might  be,  it  has 
alas,  no  mists,  or  uncertainty  around  the  nature  of  its 
close,  but  ends  certainly,  obviously,  and  universally,  in 
death. 

I  could  not  tell  any  one  what  I  felt.  I  did  not  know 
myself.  How  can  we  understand  a  labyrinth  until  Ave  ara 
through  it?  I  did  not  even  know  it  was  a  labyrinth.  I 
only  knew  that  a  ight  had  passed  away  from  everything 
and  a  shadow  had  fallen  in  its  place. 


TUEKIA'S  STORY.  3 

Tlien  it  was  that  Dr.  Luther  spoke  to  me  of  the  othe» 
world,  beyond  death,  which  God  would  certainly  make 
more  full  and  beautiful  than  this; — the  world  on  which  tbfl 
shadow  of  Death  can  never  come,  because  it  lies  in  th« 
eternal  sunshine,  on  the  other  side  of  death,  and  all  th« 
shadows  fall  on  this  side.  That  was  about  the  time  of  my 
first  communion,  and  I  saw  much  of  Dr.  Luther,  and  heard 
him  preach.  I  did  not  say  much  to  him,  but  he  let  down 
a  light  into  my  heart  which,  amidst  all  its  wanderings  and 
mistakes,  will,  I  believe,  never  go  out. 

He  made  me  understand  something  of  what  our  dear 
heavenly  Father  is,  and  that  willing  but  unequalled  Suf 
ferer — tliat  gracious  Saviour  who  gave  himself  for  our  sins, 
even  for  mine.  And  he  made  me  feel  that  God  would 
understand  me  better  than  any  one,  because  love  always 
understands,  and  the  greatest  love  understands  best,  and 
God  is  love. 

Else  and  I  spoke  a  little  about  it  sometimes,  but  not 
much.  I  am  still  a  child  to  Else  and  to  all  of  them,  being 
the  youngest,  and  so  much  less  self-controlled  than  I  ought 
to  be.  Fritz  understood  it  best ;  at  least,  I  could  speak  to 
him  more  freely, — I  do  not  know  why.  Perhaps  somo 
hearts  are  made  to  answer  naturally  to  each  other,  just 
as  some  of  the  furniture  always  vibrates  when  I  touch 
a  particular  string  of  the  lute,  while  nothing  else  in  the 
room  seems  to  feel  it.  Perhaps,  too,  sorrow  deepens  the 
heart  wonderfully,  and  opens  a  channel  into  the  depths  of 
all  other  hearts.  And  I  am  sure  Fritz  has  known  very 
deep  sorrow.  What,  I  do  not  exactly  know ;  and  I  would 
not  for  the  world  try  to  find  out.  If  there  is  a  secret 
chamber  in  his  heart,  which  he  cannot  bear  to  open  to  any 
one,  when  I  think  his  thoughts  are  there,  woild  I  not  turn 
aside  my  eyes  and  creep  softly  away,  that  he  might  never 
Vnow  I  had  found  it  out  ? 

The  innermost  sanctuary  of  his  heart  is,  however,  I 
14 


3 1 4  THE  SCHONBERQ-  CO TTA  FAMIL I . 

know,  not  a  cliamLer  of  darkness  and  death,  but  .t  hol^ 
place  of  daylight,  for  God  is  there. 

Hours  and  hours  Fritz  and  I  spoke  of  Dr.  Luthei,  and 
what  he  had  done  for  us  both ;  more,  perhaps  for  Fritz 
than  even  for  me,  because  he  had  suffered  more.  It  seems 
to  me  as  if  we  and  thousands  besides  in  the  world  had 
been  worshipping  before  an  altar-picture  of  our  Saviour, 
which  we  had  been  told  was  painted  by  a  great  master 
after  a  heavenly  pattern.  But  all  we  could  see  was  a  grim, 
hard,  stern  countenance  of  one  sitting  on  a  judgment 
throne ;  in  his  hand  lightnings,  and  worse  lightnings 
buried  in  the  cloud  of  his  severe  and  threatening  brow. 
And  then,  suddenly  we  heard  Dr.  Luther's  voice  behind 
us,  saying,  in  his  ringing,  inspiriting  tones,  "  Friends,  what 
are  you  doing?  That  is  not  the  right  painting.  These 
are  only  the  boards  which  hide  the  master's  picture."  And 
so  saying,  he  drew  aside  the  terrible  image  on  which  we 
had  been  hopelessly,  gazing,  vainly  trying  to  read  some 
traces  of  tenderness  and  beauty  there.  And  all  at  once 
ihe  real  picture  was  revealed  to  us,  the  jDieture  of  the  real 
Christ,  with  the  look  on  his  glorious  face  Avhich  he  had  on 
the  cross,  when  he  said  of  his  murderers,  "Father,  forgive 
them ;  tbey  know  not  what  they  do  ;"  and  to  his  mother, 
"  Woman,  behold  thy  son ;"  or  to  the  sinful  woman  Avho 
washed  his  feet,  "  Go  in  peace." 

Fritz  and  I  also  spoke  very  often  of  Eva.  At  least,  he 
lik  2d  me  to  speak  of  her  while  he  listened.  And  I  never 
weary  of  speaking  of  our  Eva. 

But  then  Fritz  went  away.  And  now  it  is  many  weeks 
«ince  we  have  heard  from  him;  and  the  last  tidings  we 
tad  were  that  little  note  from  the  convent-prison  at  Mainz ! 

And  now  Dr.  liUthcr  is  gone — gone  to  the  stronghold 
of  his  enemies — gone,  perhaps,  as  our  grandmother  says 
to  martyrdom ! 

And  who  will  keep  that  glorious  -evelation  of  the  tiae; 


TUEKLA'S  STORY. 


3  5 


loving,  pardoning  God  open  for  us, — with  a  steady  hanj 
keep  open  those  false  shutters,  now  that  he  is  withdrawn  ? 
Dr.  Melancthon  may  do  as  well  for  the  learned,  for  the 
theologians ;  but  who  will  replace  Dr.  Luther  to  us,  to  th« 
peop'ie,  to  working  men  and  eager  youths,  and  to  women 
and  to  children  ?  W\o  Avill  make  us  feel  as  he  does  that 
religion  is  not  a  study,  or  a  professon,  or  a  system  of  doc- 
trines, but  life  in  God ;  that  prayer  is  not,  as  he  said,  an 
ascension  of  the  heart  as  a  spiritual  exercise  into  some 
vague  airy  heights,  but  the  lifting  of  the  heart  to  God,  to 
a  heart  which  meets  us,  cares  for  us,  loves  us  inexpressi- 
bly ?  Who  will  ever  keep  before  xis  as  he  does  that  "  Our 
Father,"  which  makes  all  the  rest  of  the  Lord's  Prayer 
and  all  prayers  possible  and  helpful?  No  wonder  that 
mothers  held  out  their  children  to  receive  his  blessing  as 
he  left  us,  and  then  went  home  weeping,  whilst  even  strong 
men  brushed  away  tears  from   their  eyes. 

It  was  true,  Dr.  Bugenhagen,  who  has  escaped  from  per 
secution  in  Pomerania,  preaches  fervently  iu  his  pulpit; 
and  Archdeacon  Carlstadt  is  full  of  fire,  and  Dr.  Melanc- 
thon full  of  light ;  and  many  good,  wipe  men  are  left. 
But  Dr.  Luther  seemed  the  heart  and  soul  of  all.  Others 
might  say  wiser  things,  and  he  might  say  many  things 
others  would  be  too  wise  to  say,  but  it  is  through  Dr. 
Luther's  heart  that  God  lias  revealed  his  heart  and  his 
word  to  thousands  in  our  country,  and  I'O  one  can  ever  b8 
to  us  what  he  is. 

Day  and  night  we  pra^  for  his  safety. 

April  1 5. 

CnPJSTOPIIER  has  returned  from  Erfurt,  where  he 
heard  Dr.  Luther  preach. 
He  told  us  that  in  many  places  his  progress  was  like  that 
of  a  beloved   prince   through  his   dominions ;  of  a  prino* 
who  was  going  out  to  some  great  battle  for  his  laad. 


1 6  THE  SGHdNBEliO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Peasants  blessed  him ;  poor  men  and  women  thronged 
firound  liiin  and  entreated  him  not  to  trust  his  j^recious  Hfo 
among  his  enemies.  One  aged  priest  at  Nuremburg  brought 
out  to  him  a  portrait  of  Savonarola,  the  good  priest  whom 
the  Pope  burned  at  Florence  not  forty  years  ago.  One 
aged  widow  came  to  him  and  said  her  parents  had  told  her 
God  Avould  send  a  deliverer  to  break  the  yoke  of  Rome, 
and  she  thanked  God  she  saw  him  before  she  died.  At 
Erfurt  sixty  burghers  and  professors  rode  out  some  miles 
to  escort  him  into  the  city.  There,  where  he  had  relin- 
quished all  earthly  prospects  to  beg  bread  as  a  monk 
through  the  streets,  the  streets  were  thronged  with  grate- 
ful men  and  Avomen,  who  welcomed  him  as  their  liberator 
from  falsehood  and  spiritual  tyranny. 

Christopher  heard  him  preach  in  the  church  of  the  Au- 
gustinian  Convent,  where  he  had  (as  Fritz  told  me)  suffered 
such  agonies  of  conflict.  He  stood  there  now  an  excom- 
municated man,  threatened  with  death  ;  but  he  stood  there 
as  victor,  through  Christ,  over  the  tyranny  and  lies  of 
Satan.  He  seemed  entirely  to  forget  his  own  danger  in 
the  joy  of  the  eternal  salvation  he  came  to  proclaim.  Not 
a  word,  Christopher  said,  about  himself,  or  the  Diet,  or 
the  Pope's  bull,  or  the  Emperor,  but  all  about  the  Avay  a 
sinner  may  be  saved,  and  a  believer  may  be  joyful.  "  There 
are  two  kinds  of  works,"  he  said ;  "  external  works,  our 
own  works.  These  are  worth  little.  One  man  builds  a 
church;  another  makes  a  pilgrmiage  to  St.  Peter's;  a 
third  fasts,  puts  on  the  hood,  goes  barefoot.  All  these 
works  are  nothing,  and  will  perish.  Now,  I  will  tell  you 
what  is  the  true  good  work.  God  hath  raised  again  a  tnan, 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  in  order  that  he  may  crush  death^  de- 
utroy  sin,  shut  the  gates  of  hell.  This  is  the  work  of  salva- 
tion. The  devil  believed  he  had  the  Lord  in  his  power 
when  he  beheld  him  between  two  thieves,  suffering  th« 
most  shameful  martyrdom,  accurecd  both  of  heaven  and 


THEKLA'S  STOUT.  317 

man.  But  God  put  forth  his  might,  and  annil  ilated  death, 
sin,  and  hell.  Christ  hath  won  the  victory.  This  is  the 
great  news !  And  we  are  saved  by  his  work,  not  by  our 
works.  The  Pope  says  something  very  diflerent.  But  T 
tell  you  the  holy  Mother  of  God  herself  has  been  saved, 
not  by  her  virginity,  nor  by  her  maternity,  nor  by  her 
jiurity,  nor  by  her  works,  but  solely  by  means  of  faith, 
and  by  the  Avork  of  God." 

As  he  spoke  the  gallery  in  which  Christopher  stood  lis- 
tening cracked.  Many  were  greatly  terrified,  and  even 
attempted  to  rush  out.  Dr.  Luther  stopped  a  moment, 
and  then  stretching  out  his  hand  said,  in  his  clear,  fii-m 
voice,  "  Fear  not,  there  is  no  danger.  The  devil  would 
thus  hinder  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel,  but  he  will  not 
succeed."  Then  returning  to  his  text,  he  said,  "  Perhaps 
you  will  say  to  me,  '  You  speak  to  us  much  about  faith, 
teach  us  how  we  may  obtain  it.'  Yes,  indeed,  that  is 
what  I  desire  to  teach  you.  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  haa 
said,  '■Peace  he  xmto  you.  Behold  my  hands.''  And  this  is 
as  if  he  said,  '  O  man,  it  is  I  alone  who  have  taken  aAvay 
thy  sins,  and  who  have  redeemed  thee,  and  now  thou  hast 
peace,  saith  the  Lord.'  " 

And  he  concluded, — 

"  Since  God  has  saved  us,  let  us  so  order  our  works  that 
he  may  take  pleasure  therein.  Art  thou  rich?  Let  thy 
goods  be  serviceable  to  the  p(jor.  Art  thou  poor  ?  Let 
thy  services  be  of  use  to  the  rich.  If  thy  labours  are  use 
less  to  all  but  thyself,  the  services  thou  prctendest  to  rea 
der  to  God  are  a  mere  lie." 

Christopher  left  Dr.  Luther  at  Erfurt.     He  said  manj 
^ried  to  persuade  the  doctor  not  to  A'enture  to  Worms 
/I  hers  reminded  him  of  John  Huss,  burned  in  spite  of  the 
•ife  conduct.     And  as  he  went,  in  some  jilaces  the  papal 
sxcoinmunication  was  afiix-ed  on  the  walls  before  his  eyes 
lAit  ha  said,  "  If  I  perish,  the  truth  will  not." 


;} :  i  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

A.id  nothing  moved  liim  from  Lis  purpose.  Chiistophei 
was  most  deeply  touclied  with  that  sermon.  He  says  the 
text,  "  Peace  be  unto  you ;  and  -w  hen  he  had  so  said  Jesus 
show  3d  unto  them  his  hands  and  his  side,"  rang  through 
his  hjart  all  the  way  home  to  Wittenberg,  through  the 
forest  and  the  plain.  The  pathos  of  the  clear  true  voice 
tt'e  mxy  never  hear  again  writes  them  on  his  heart ;  and 
iiore  than  that,  I  trust,  the  deeper  pathos  of  the  voicfl 
which  uttered  the  cry  of  agony  once  on  the  cross  for  us, — 
the  agony  which  won  the  peace. 

Yes ;  when  Dr.  Luther  speaks  he  makes  us  feel  we  have 
to  do  with  persons,  not  with  things, — 'With  the  devil  who 
hates  us,  with  God  who  loves  us,  with  the  Saviour  who 
died  for  us.  It  is  not  holiness  only  and  justification,  or 
sin  and  condemnation.  It  is  we  sinning  and  condemned, 
Christ  suffering  for  us,  and  God  justifying  and  loving  us. 
It  is  all  I  and  thou.  He  brings  us  face  to  face  with  God, 
not  merely  sitting  serene  on  a  distant  imperial  throne, 
frowning  in  terrible  majesty,  or  even  smiling  in  gracious 
pity,  but  coming  down  to  us  close,  seeking  us,  and  caring, 
caring  unutterably  much,  that  we,  even  we,  should  be 
Baved. 

I  never  knew,  until  Dr.  Luther  drove  out  of  Wittenberg, 
and  the  car  with  the  cloth  curtains  to  protect  him  from 
the  weather  which  the  town  had  provided,  passed  out  of 
sight,  and  I  saw  the  tears  gently  flowing  down  my  mother's 
face,  how  much  she  loved  and  honoured  him. 

She  seems  almost  as  anxious  about  him  as  about  Fritz ; 
and  she  did  not  reprove  me  that  night  "h  hen  she  came  in 
and  found  me  weeping  by  my  bed.  She  only  drew  me  to 
her  and  smoothed  down  my  hair,  and  said,  "Poor  little 
Thekla !  God  will  teach  us  both  how  to  have  none  other 
gods  but  himself  He  will  do  it  very  tenderly ;  but  neithei: 
thy  mother  nor  thy  Saviour  can  teach  thee  this  less'iu 
without  many  a  bitter  tear. 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  j-.q 

FRITZ'S    STORY. 

Ebeknbuiig,  April  2,  1526. 

\  CHASM  has  opened  between  me  and  my  monaslit 
/jL  life.  I  have  been  in  the  jDrison,  and  in  tlie  prison 
have  I  received  at  last,  in  full,  my  emancipation.  The  ties 
I  dreaded  impatiently  to  break  have  been  broken  for  me, 
and  I  am  a  monk  no  longer, 

I  could  not  but  speak  to  my  brethren  in  the  convent  of 
the  glad  tidings  which  had  brought  me  such  joy.  It  is  as 
imi)ossible  for  Christian  life  not  to  diffuse  itself  as  that  liv- 
ing water  should  not  flow,  or  that  flames  should  not  rise. 
Gradually  a  little  band  of  Christ's  freedmeu  gathered 
around  me.  At  first  I  did  not  speak  to  them  much  of  Dr. 
Luther's  writings.  My  purpose  was  to  show  them  thai 
Luther's  doctrine  was  not  his  own,  but  God's. 

But  the  time  came  when  Dr.  Luther's  name  was  on 
every  lip.  The  bull  of  excommunication  went  forth  against 
him  from  the  Vatican.  Ilis  name  was  branded  as  that  of 
the  vilest  of  heretics  by  e\ery  adherent  of  the  Pope.  In 
many  churches,  especially  those  of  the  Dominicans,  the 
people  were  summoned  by  the  great  bells  to  a  solemn  ser- 
vice of  anathema,  where  the  whole  of  the  priests,  gathered 
at  the  altar  in  the  darkened  building,  pronounced  the  ter- 
rible words  of  doom,  and  then,  flinging  down  their  blazing 
torches  extinguished  theni  on  the  stone  jiavement,  as  hope, 
they  said,  was  extinguished  by  the  anathema  for  the  soul 
of  the  accursed. 

At  one  of  these  services  I  was  accidentally  present.  And 
mine  was  not  the  only  heart  which  glowed  with  burning 
indignation  tc  hear  that  Avorth)'  name  linked  with  those 
of  apostates  and  heretics,  and  held  up  to  universal  execra- 
tion. But,  pei'haps,  in  no  heart  there  did  it  enkindle  such 
a  fire  as  in  mine.  Because  I  knew  the  source  from  whicii 
those  ( urses  came,  how  lightly,  how  carelessly  those  firo 


320 


THE  SCH0NBERO-€0TTA  FAMILY. 


hrancis  were  flting  ;  not  fieicely,  by  the  fanaticism  of  blind- 
ei  consciences,  but  daintily  and  deliberately,  by  cnie.,  reck- 
less hands,  as  a  matter  of  diplomacy  and  policy,  by  those 
who  cai'ed  themselves  neither  for  God's  curse  nor  hia 
blessmg,  And  I  knew  also  the  heart  which  they  wero 
!neant  to  wound;  how  loyal,  how  tender,  how  true;  how 
jlowly.  and  with  what  pain  Dr.  Luther  had  learned  to  be- 
iieve  the  idols  of  his  youth  a  lie;  with  what  a  wrench, 
when  the  choice  at  last  had  to  be  made  between  the  word 
of  God  and  the  voice  of  the  Church,  he  had  clung  to  the 
Bible,  and  let  the  hopes,  and  trust,  and  friendships  of  ear- 
lier days  be  torn  from  him ;  what  anguish  that  separation 
still  cost  him  ;  how  willingly,  as  a  hinnble  little  child,  at  the 
sacrifice  of  anything  but  truth  and  human  souls,  he  woulc* 
have  flung  himself  again  on  the  bosom  of  that  Church  to 
whom,  in  his  fervent  youth,  he  had  oiFered  up  all  that 
makes  life  dear. 

"  They  curse,  but  bless  Thou.'''' 

The  Avords  came  unbidden  into  my  heart,  and  almost 
unconsciously  from  my  lips.  Around  me  I  heard  more 
than  one  "  Amen  ;"  but  at  the  same  time  I  became  aware 
that  I  was  watched  by  malignant  eyes. 

After  the  publication  of  the  excommunication,  they  pub- 
licly burned  the  writings  of  Dr.  Luther  in  the  great  square. 
Mainz  was  the  first  city  in  Germany  where  this  indignity 
was  offcrod  him. 

Mournfully  I  returned  to  my  convent.  In  the  cloisters 
'^f  our  Order  the  opinions  concerning  Luther  are  much 
divided.  The  writings  of  St.  Augustine  have  kept  the 
U'uth  alive  in  many  hearts  amongst  us ;  and  besides  this 
there  is  the  natural  bias  to  one  of  our  own  name,  and  the 
party  opposition  to  the  Dominicans,  Tetzel  and  Eck,  Dr. 
Luther's  enemies.  Probably  there  are  few  Augusimiau 
oonvents  in  which  tliere  are  not  two  opposite  parties  ic 
reference  to  Dr.  Luther 


FRITZ' 8  STORY.  5«1 

Li  speaking  of  the  great  truths,  of  God  fieo.y  justifying 
the  sinner  because  Christ  died  (the  Judge  acqiiitting  be- 
cause tlie  Judge  himself  had  suffered  for  the  guilty),  I  had 
endeavoured  to  trace  them,  as  I  liave  said,  beyond  all  hu- 
man words  to  their  divine  authority.  But  now,  to  confess 
Luther  seemed  to  me  to  have  become  identical  with  con- 
fessing Christ.  It  is  the  truth  Avhich  is  assailed  in  any 
age  Avhich  tests  our  fidelity.  It  is  to  confess  we  are  called, 
not  merely  to  profess.  If  I  profess,  with  the  loudest  voice 
and  the  clearest  exposition,  every  portion  of  the  truth  of 
God  except  precisely  that  little  point  which  the  world  and 
the  devil  are  at  that  moment  attacking,  I  am  not  confess- 
ing Christ,  however  boldly  I  may  be  professing  Christi- 
anity. Where  the  battle  rages  the  loyalty  of  the  soldiei 
is  proved  ;  and  to  be  steady  on  all  the  battle-field  besides 
is  mere  flight  and  disgrace  to  him  if  he  flinches  at  that  one 
point. 

It  seems  to  me  also  that,  practically,  the  contest  in  every 
age  of  conflict  ranges  usually  round  the  person  of  one  faith- 
ful, God-sent  man,  whom  to  follow  loyally  is  fidelity  to 
God.  In  the  days  of  the  first  Judaizing  assault  on  the 
early  Church,  that  man  was  St.  Paul.  In  the  great  Arian 
battle,  this  man  wq,s  Atbanasius — '■'■Athanasius  contra  viun- 
dum."  In  our  days,  in  our  land,  I  believe  it  is  Luther ; 
and  to  deny  Luther  would  be  for  me,  who  learned  the 
truth  from  his  ]i[)s,  to  deny  Christ.  Luther,  I  believe,  in 
the  man  whom  God  has  given  to  his  Church  in  Germany 
in  this  age.  Luther,  therefore,  I  will  follow — not  as  a  per- 
fect example,  but  as  a  God-appointed  leader.  Men  can 
never  be  neutral  in  great  religious  contests ;  and  if,  becausa 
of  the  little  wrong  in  the  right  cause,  or  the  little  ev"l  in 
the  good  man,  we  refuse  to  take  the  side  of  right,  we  are, 
by  that  very  act,  silently  taking  the  side  of  wrong. 

AVhen  I  came  back  to  the  convent  I  found  the  storm 
gathering.  I  was  asked  if  I  possessed  any  of  Dr.  Luthor'» 
14* 


322  TUB  SCEONBERO-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

jv'rit.ngs.  I  confessed  that  I  did.  It  Avas  demanded  that 
they  should  he  gi\en  up.  I  said  they  could  he  taken  from 
me,  hut  I  would  not  willingly  give  them  up  to  destruc- 
tion, hecause  I  helieved  they  contained  the  truth  of  God. 
^rhus  the  matter  ended  mitil  we  had  each  retired  to  our 
cells  for  the  night,  when  one  of  the  older  monks  came  to 
uie  and  accused  me  of  secretly  spreading  Lutheran  heresy 
among  the  brethren. 

I  acknowledged  I  had  diligently,  but  not  secretly,  done 
all  I  could  to  spread  among  the  brethren  the  truths  con 
tained  in  Dr.  Luther's  books,  although  not  in  his  words, 
but  in  St.  Paul's.  A  warm  debate  ensued,  Avhich  ended  in 
the  monk  angrily  leaving  the  cell,  saying  that  means  would 
be  found  to  prevent  the  further  diftusion  of  this  poison. 

The  next  day  I  was  taken  into  the  prison  where  John 
of  Wesel  died  ;  the  heavy  bolts  were  drawn  upon  me,  an(? 
I  was  left  in  solitude. 

As  they  left,  the  monk  with  whom  I  had  the  discussion 
of  the  previous  night  said,  "In  this  chamber,  not  fort} 
years  since,  a  heretic  such  as  Martin  Luther  died." 

The  words  Avere  intended  to  produce  wholesome  fear 
they  acted  as  a  bracing  tonic.  The  spirit  of  the  conquero- 
who  had  seemed  to  be  defeated  there,  but  now  stood  with 
the  victorious  palm  before  the  Lamb,  seemed  near  me 
The  Spirit  of  the  truth  for  which  he  sufiered  was  with  me  , 
and  in  the  solitude  of  that  prison  I  learned  lessons  years 
might  not  have  taught  me  elsewhere. 

No  one  except  those  who  have  borne  them  know  how 
etrong  are  the  fetters  which  bind  us  to  a  false  faith,  learned 
at  our  mother's  knee,  and  rivetted  on  ms  by  the  sacrifices 
of  years.  Perhaps  I  should  never  have  been  able  to  break 
tJem.  For  me,  as  for  thousands  of  others,  they  were 
rudely  broken  by  }iostile  hands.  But  the  blows  were  the 
Bccolado  which  smote  me  from  a  monk  into  a  knight  and 
Boldier  of  mj  Loid. 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  ^zj 

Yes  ;  there  I  learned  that  these  vows  which  have  bound 
aie  for  so  many  years  are  bonds,  not  to  God,  bnt  to  a 
lying  tyranny.  The  only  trne  vows,  as  Dr.  Luther  says, 
are  the  vows  of  our  baptism — to  renounce  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil,  as  soldiers  of  Christ.  The  only  divine 
Order  is  the  common  order  of  Christianity,  All  other 
)rd3rs  are  disorder  ;  not  confederations  within  the  Church, 
but  conspiracies  against  it.  If,  in  an  army,  the  troops 
chose  to  abandon  the  commander's  arrangement,  and  range 
themselves,  by  arbitrary  rules,  in  peculiar  uniforms,  around 
self-elected  leaders,  they  would  not  be  soldiers — they  would 
be  mutineers. 

God's  order  is,  I  think,  the  State  to  embrace  all  men, 
the  Church  to  embrace  all  Christian  men  ;  and  the  kernel 
of  the  State  and  the  type  of  the  Church  is  the  family. 

He  creates  us  to  be  infants,  children — sons,  daughters 
— husband,  wife — father,  mother.  He  says,  Obey  your 
parents,  love  your  Avife,  reverence  your  husband,  love  your 
children.  As  children,  let  the  Lord  at  Nazareth  be  your 
model ;  as  married,  let  the  Lord,  who  loved  the  Chui-ch 
better  than  life,  be  your  type  :  as  parents,  let  the  heavenly 
Father  be  your  guide.  And  if  we,  abandoning  every  holy 
name  of  family  love  he  has  sanctioned,  and  every  lowly 
duty  he  has  enjoined,  choose  to  band  ourselves  anew  into 
isolated  conglomerations  of  men  or  women,  connected  only 
by  a  common  name  and  dress,  we  are  not  only  amiable 
enthusiasts — we  are  rebels  against  the  divine  order  of 
humanity. 

God,  indeed,  may  call  some  especially  to  forsake  father 
and  mother,  and  Avife  and  children,  and  all  things  for  hii 
dearer  love.  But  Avhen  he  calls  to  siuih  destinies,  it  is  by 
the  plain  voice  of  Providence,  or  by  the  bitter  call  of  per- 
secution ;  and  then  the  martyr's  or  the  apostle's  solitary 
path  is  as  mucli  the  lowly,  simple  path  of  obedience  M 
toe  mother's  or  the  child's.     The  crown  of  the  martyr  \» 


^24  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

consecrated  by  tJie  same  holy  oil  which  anoints  tlie  bead 
of  the  bride,  the  mother,  or  the  child, — the  consecration 
of  love  and  of  obedience.  There  is  none  other.  All  thai 
IS  not  duty  is  sin  ;  all  that  is  not  obedience  is  disobedience 
all  that  is  not  of  love  is  of  self;  and  self  crowned  Avith 
thorns  in  a  cloister  is  as  selfish  as  self  crowned  with  ivy 
at  a  revel. 

Therefore  I  abandon  cowl  and  cloister  for  ever.  I  am 
no  more  Brother  Sebastian,  of  the  order  of  the  Eremites 
of  St.  Augustine.  I  am  Friedrich  Cotta,  Margaret  Cotta's 
son.  Else  and  Thekla's  brother  Fritz.  I  am  no  more  a 
monk.  I  am  a  Chi-istian.  I  am  no  more  a  vowed  Augua- 
tinian.  I  am  a  baptized  Christian,  dedicated  to  Christ 
from  the  arms  of  my  mother,  united  to  him  by  the  faith 
of  my  manhood.  Henceforth  I  will  order  my  life  by  no 
routine  of  ordinances  imposed  by  the  will  of  a  dead  man 
hundreds  of  years  since.  But  day  by  day  I  will  seek  to 
yield  myself,  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  to  the  \Wmg  will  of 
my  almighty,  loving  God,  saying  to  him  morning  by  morn- 
ing, "  Give  me  this  day  my  daily  bread.  Appoint  to  me 
this  day  my  daily  task."  And  he  will  never  fail  to  hear, 
however  often  I  may  fail  to  ask. 

I  had  abundance  of  time  for  those  thoughts  in  my 
prison ;  for  during  the  three  weeks  I  lay  there  I  had,  with 
the  exception  of  the  bread  and  water  which  were  silently 
laid  inside  the  door  every  morning,  but  two  visits.  And 
these  were  from  my  friend  the  aged  monk  who  had  first 
told  me  about  John  of  Wesel. 

The  first  time  he  came  (he  said)  to  persuade  me  to 
recant.  But  whatever  he  intended,  he  said  little  about 
recantation — much  more  about  his  own  v^eakne^s,  vvhicl" 
hindered  him  from  confessing  the  same  truth. 

The  second  time  he  brought  me  a  disguise,  and  told  me 
be  had  provided  the  means  for  my  escape  that  very  night 
When,  therefore.  I  heard  the  echoes  of  the  heavy  bolts  of 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  32, 

the  great  doors  die  away  through  the  long  stone  corridors, 
and  listened  till  the  last  tramp  of  feet  ceased,  and  door 
after  door  of  the  various  cells  was  closed,  and  every  soimd 
was  still  throughout  the  building,  I  laid  aside  my  monk's 
cowl  and  frock,  and  i:)ut  on  the  burgher  dress  provided 
for  me. 

To  me  it  was  a  glad  and  solenm  ceremony,  and,  alone  in 
iiy  prison,  I  prostrated  myself  on  the  stonr  floor,  a^.d 
thanked  Him  who,  by  his  redeeming  death  and  the  eman- 
cipating word  of  his  free  Spirit,  had  made  me  a  freemuju 
nay,  infinitely  bettei',  his  freedmaa. 

The  bodily  freedom  to  which  I  looked  forward  was  to 
me  a  light  boon  indeed  in  comparison  with  the  liberty  of 
heart  already  mine.  The  putting  on  this  common  garb 
of  secular  life  was  to  me  like  a  solemn  investiture  witb 
the  freedom  of  the  city  and  the  empire  of  God.  Hence- 
forth I  was  not  to  be  a  member  of  a  narrow,  separated 
class,  but  of  the  common  family  ;  no  more  to  freeze  alone 
on  a  height,  but  to  tread  the  lowly  path  of  common  duty  ; 
to  help  my  brethren,  not  as  men  at  a  sumptuous  table 
throw  crumbs  to  beggars  and  dogs,  but  to  live  amongst 
them — to  share  my  bread  of  life  with  them  ;  no  longer  as 
the  forerunner  in  tlie  wilderness,  but,  like  the  Master,  in 
the  streets,  and  highv\ays,  and  homes  of  men  ;  assuming 
no  nobler  name  than  man  created  in  the  image  of  God, 
born  in  the  image  of  Adam  ;  aiming  at  no  loftier  title 
than  Christian,  redeemed  by  the  blood  of  Christ,  and  cre- 
ated anew,  to  be  conformed  to  his  glorious  image.  Yes, 
as  the  symbol  of  a  freedman,  as  the.  uniform  of  a  soldier, 
as  the  armour  of  a  sworn  knight  at  once  freeman  and 
servant,  was  that  lowly  burgher's  dress  to  me  ;  and  v\ith 
a  joyful  heart,  when  the  aged  monk  came  to  me  again,  T 
Btei)ped  after  him,  leaving  my  monk's  frock  lying  in  'he 
corner  of  the  coll,  like  the  husk  of  that  old  lifeless  life. 

In  vain  did   I  ondeavcr  to  persuade  my  liberator  ta 


,26  TUE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

aecompany  me  in  my  fliglit.  "  The  world  would  be  a 
prison  to  me,  brotlier,"  he  said  with  a  sad  smile.  "  All  I 
loved  ill  it  are  dead ;  and  what  would  I  do  there,  with  the 
oody  of  an  old  man  and  the  helpless  inexperience  of  a 
child  ?  Fear  not  for  me,"  he  added  ;  "  I  also  shall,  I  trust, 
one  day  dwell  in  a  home,  but  not  on  earth." 

And  so  we  parted,  he  returning  to  the  convent,  and  I 
taking  my  way,  by  river  and  forest,  to  this  castle  of  the 
Qoble  knight  Franz  von  Sickingen,  on  a  steep  height  at 
the  angle  formed  by  the  junction  of  two  rivers. 

My  silent  weeks  of  imprisonment  had  been  weeks  of 
busy  life  in  the  world  outside.  When  I  reached  this  castle 
of  Ebernburg,  I  found  the  whole  of  its  inhabitants  in  a 
ferment  about  the  summoning  of  Dr.  Luther  to  Worms. 
His  name,  and  my  recent  imprisonment  for  his  faith,  were 
a  sufficient  passport  to  the  hospitality  of  the  castle,  and  I 
was  welcomed  most  cordially. 

It  was  a  great  contrast  to  the  monotonous  routine  of 
ihe  convent  and  the  stillness  of  the  prison.  All  was  life  and 
Btir  ;  eager  debates  as  to  what  it  would  be  best  to  do  foi 
Dr.  Luther ;  incessant  coming  and  going  of  messengers 
on  horse  and  foot  between  Ebernburg  and  Worms,  where 
the  Diet  is  already  sitting,  and  where  the  good  knighl 
Franz  spends  much  of  his  time  in  attendance  on  the  Em- 
peror. 

Ulrich  von  Hutten  is  also  here,  from  time  to  time,  vehe- 
ment in  his  condemnation  of  the  fanaticism  of  monks  and 
(he  lukewarmness  of  princes  ;  and  Dr.  Bucer,  a  disciple 
of  Dr.  Luther's,  set  free  from  the  bondage  of  Rome  by 
bis  healthful  Vv'ords  at  the  great  conference  of  the  Augus- 
tinians  at  Heidelberg. 

April  30,  1521. 
''¥~^IIE  events  of  an  age  seem  to  have  been  crowdeJ 

L  into  the  last  month.  A  few  days  after  I  wroi*) 
B?i,  it  was  decided  to  send  a  deputation  U  Dr.  liiither. 


miTZ'S  STORY.  3J7 

who  was  then  rapidly  approaching  Worms,  entreating  him 
not  to  venture  into  the  city,  but  to  turn  aside  to  Ebern- 
burg.  The  Emperor's  confessor,  Glapio,  had  persuaded 
the  icnight  von  Sickingen  and  the  chaplain  Bucer  that  ail 
might  easily  be  arranged,  if  Dr.  Luther  only  avoided  the 
fatal  step  of  appearing  at  the  Diet. 

A  deputation  of  horsemen  was  therefore  sent  to  intei*- 
oept  the  doctor  on  his  way,  and  to  conduct  him,  if  he 
would  consent,  to  Ebenburg,  the  "  refuge  and  hostelry  cf 
righteousness,"  as  it  has  been  termed. 

I  accompanied  the  little  band,  of  which  Dr.  Bucer  was  to 
be  chief  spokesman.  I  did  not  think  Dr.  Luther  would 
come.  Unlike  the  rest  of  the  party,  I  had  known  him  not 
only  when  he  stepped  on  the  great  stage  of  the  world  ai 
the  antagonist  of  falsehood,  but  as  the  simple,  straightfor- 
ward, obscure  monk.  And  I  knew  that  the  step  w'aich  to 
others  seemed  so  great,  leading  liim  from  safe  ^.oscurity 
into  perilous  pre-eminence  before  the  eyes  of  all  Christen 
dom,  Avas  to  him  no  great  momentary  eftbrt,  but  simply 
one  little  step  in  the  path  of  obedience  and  lowly  duty 
which  he  had  been  endeavouring  to  tread  so  many  years. 
But  I  feared.  I  distrusted  Glapio,  and  believed  that  all 
this  earnestness  on  the  part  of  the  papal  party  to  turn  the 
doctor  aside  was  not  for  his  sake,  but  for  their  own. 

I  needed  not,  at  least,  have  distrusted  Dr.  Luther.  Bu- 
cer  entreated  him  with  the  eloquence  of  affectionate  solici- 
tude ;  his  faithful  friends  and  fellow-travellers,  Jonas,  Ams- 
lorf,  and  Schurff,  wavered,  but  Dr.  Luther  did  not  hesi- 
tate an  instant.  He  was  in  the  path  of  obedience.  Th 
next  step  was  as  imquestionable  and  essential  as  all  tlie 
rest,  although,  as  he  had  once  said,  "  it  led  through  flames 
which  extended  from  Worms  to  Wittenberg,  and  raged 
up  to  heaven."  lie  did  not,  however,  use  any  of  tlies«j 
forcible  illustrations  now,  natural  as  they  were  to  him 
He  Liirply  said, — 


328  TUE  SCHONBERG-VOTTA  FAMILY. 

"  1  continue  my  journey.  If  tlie  Emperor's  confessor 
has  anything  to  say  to  me,  lie  can  say  it  at  Worms.  ) 
U'i  I  JO  to  the  ])lace  to  ivhich  I  have  been  aumnionedy 

And_  he  went  on,  leaving  the  friendly  deputation  t( 
return  baffled  to  Ebernburg. 

I  did  not  leave  him.  As  we  went  on  the  Avay,  some  of 
those  who  had  accompanied  him  told  me  through  what 
fervent  greetings  and  against  Avhat  vain  entreaties  of  tear- 
ful  affection  he  had  pursued  his  way  thus  far  ;  how  many 
hal  warned  him  that  he  was  going  to  the  stake,  and  had 
we})t  tliat  they  should  see  his  face  no  more  ;  how  through 
much  bodily  weakness  and  suffering,  through  acclamations 
and  tears,  he  had  passed  on  simply  and  steadfastly,  bless- 
ing little  children  in  the  schools  he  "sisited,  and  telling 
them  to  search  the  Scriptures  ;  comforting  the  timid  and 
aged,  stirring  up  the  hearts  of  all  to  faith  and  prayer,  and 
by  his  courage  and  trust  more  than  once  turning  enemies 
into  friends. 

"  Are  you  the  man  who  is  to  overtuj-n  the  popedom  ?" 
said  a  soldier,  accosting  him  rather  contemptuously  at  a 
halting-place  ;   "  how  will  you  accomplish  that  ?" 

"  I  rely  on  Almighty  God,"  he  replied,  "  whose  orders 
[  have." 

And  the  soldier  replied  reverently, — 

"  I  serve  the  Emperor  Charles  ;  your  Master  is  greater 
than  mine." 

One  more  assault  awaited  Dr.  Luther  before  he  reached 
his  destination.  It  came  through  friendly  lips.  When  lie 
arrived  near  Worms,  a  messenger  came  riding  raj^idly 
towards  us  from  his  faithful  friend  Spalatiu,  the  Elector's 
chaplain,  and  implored  him  on  no  account  to  think  ol 
entering  the  city. 

The  doctor's  old  fervour  of  expression  returned  at  such 
a  temptation  meeting  him  so  near  the  goal. 

"Cio  tell  your  maxter  '"  he  said  "  that  if  thcjo  were  a! 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  329 

Worms  as  maty  devils  as  tliere  are  tiles  on  the  roofs,  yot 
would  I  go  in." 

And  he  went  in.  A  hundred  cavaliers  met  Lim  near 
die  gates,  and  escorted  him  -within  the  city.  Two  thous- 
and people  were  eagerly  awaiting  him,  and  pressed  to  sec 
liinx  as  he  passed  through  the  streets.  Not  all  friends. 
Fanatical  Spaniards  were  among  them,  Avho  had  torn  his 
books  in  pieces  from  the  book-stalls,  and  crossed  thera- 
Belves  when  they  looked  at  him,  as  if  he  had  been  the 
devil ;  baffled  partisans  of  the  Pope  :  and  on  the  other 
hand,  timid  Christians  who  hoped  all  from  his  coui-age ; 
men  who  had  waited  long  for  this  deliverance,  had  re 
ceived  life  from  his  words,  and  had  kept  his  portrait  in 
their  homes  and  hearts  encircled  like  that  of  a  canonized 
saint  with  a  glory.  And  through  the  crowd  he  passed, 
the  only  man,  perhaps,  in  it  who  did  not  see  Dr.  Luther 
through  a  mist  of  hatred  or  of  glory,  but  felt  himself  a 
solitary,  feeble,  helpless  man,  leaning  only,  yet  resting 
securely,  on  the  arm  of  Almighty  strength. 

Those  who  knew  him  best  perhaps  wondered  at  him 
most  during  these  days  which  followed.  Not  at  his  cour- 
age— that  Ave  had  expected — but  at  his  calmness  and 
moderation.  It  was  this  which  seemed  to  me  most  surely 
the  seal  of  God  on  that  fervent,  impetuous  nature,  stamp- 
ing the  work  and  the  man  as  of  God. 

We  none  of  us  knew  how  he  would  have  answered  be- 
fore that  august  assembly.  At  his  first  apjiearance  some 
of  us  feared  he  might  have  been  too  vehement.  The  Elec 
lor  Frederic  could  not  have  been  more  moderate  and  ^alni. 
When  asked  whether  he  would  retract  his  books,  I  think 
there  were  few  among  us  who  were  not  surprised  at  tho 
uobie  self-restraint  of  his  reply.     He  asked  for  time. 

"  Most  gracious  Emperor,  gracious  jjrinces  and  lords," 
he  said,  "  with  regard  to  the  first  accusation,  I  acknowledge 
Vbe  books  enumerated  to  have  beet  from  me.     I  cannot 


J30  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

disown  Ihem.  As  regards  the  second,  seeing  that  it  is  a 
question  of  the  faith  and  the  salvation  of  souls,  and  of 
iTod's  word,  the  most  precious  treasure  in  heaven  or  eartli, 
I  should  act  rashly  were  I  to  reply  hastily.  I  might  affirm 
less  than  the  case  requires,  or  more  than  truth  demands, 
and  thus  offend  against  that  Avord  of  Christ,  '  Whosoever 
shall  deny  me  before  men,  him  will  I  also  deny  before  my 
Father  who  is  in  heaven.'  Wherefore  I  beseech  your  im- 
perial majesty,  with  all  submission,  to  allow  me  time  that 
I  may  reply  without  doing  prejudice  to  the  Word  of  God." 

He  could  afford  to  be  thought  for  the  time  what  many 
of  his  enemies  tauntingly  declared  him,  a  coward,  brave  in 
the  cell,  but  appalled  when  he  came  to  face  the  world. 

During  the  rest  of  that  day  he  w\as  full  of  jey ;  "  like  a 
child,"  said  some,  "  who  knows  not  what  is  before  him  ;" 
"  like  a  veteran,"  said  others,  "  who  has  prepared  every- 
thing for  the  battle;"  like  both,  I  thought,  since  the 
strength  of  t  le  veteran  in  the  battles  of  God  is  the 
strength  of  the  child  following  his  Father's  eye,  and  trust- 
ing on  his  Father's  arm. 

A  conflict  awaited  him  afterw^ards  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  which  one  of  us  witnessed,  and  w^hich  made  him 
w^ho  witnessed  it  feel  no  wonder  that  the  imperial  presence 
had  no  terrors  for  Luther  on  the  morrow. 

Alone  that  night  our  leader  fought  the  fight  to  which 
all  other  combats  "were  but  as  a  holiday  tournament. 
Prostrate  on  the  ground,  with  sobs  and  bitter  tears,  ha 
prayed,— 

''  Ahnighty,  everlasting  God,  how  terrible  this  world  is  I 
How  it  would  open  its  jaws  to  devour  me,  and  how  weak 
is  my  trust  in  thee !  The  flesh  is  weak,  and  the  devil  is 
stnmg!  O  thou  my  God,  helj)  me  against  all  the  wisdom 
of  this  world.  Do  thou  the  work.  It  is  for  thee  alone  to 
do  it ;  for  the  work  is  thine,  not  mine.  I  hrve  nothing  to 
bring  me  1  ere      I  have  no  controversy  to  maintain,  not  I, 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


33 


rith  the  great  ones  of  the  earth.  I  too  -w^ould  that  m^ 
iays  should  glide  along  happy  and  calmly.  But  the  cause 
is  thine.  It  is  righteous,  it  is  eternal.  O  Lord,  help  me ; 
thou  that  art  faithful,  thoix  that  art  unchangeable.  It  is 
not  in  any  man  I  trust.  That  were  vain  indeed.  All  that 
IS  in  man  gives  way ;  all  that  comes  from  man  faileth.  O 
God,  my  God,  dost  thou  not  hear  me?  Art  thou  dead? 
No ;  thou  canst  not  die.  Thou  art  but  hiding  thyself. 
Thou  bast  chosen  me  for  this  work.  I  know  it.  Oh,  then, 
arise  and  Avork.  Be  thou  on  my  side,  for  the  sake  of  thy 
beloved  Son  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  my  defence,  my  shield, 
and  my  fortress. 

"  O  Lord,  my  God,  where  art  thou  ?  Come,  come ;  I 
am  ready — ready  to  forsake  life  for  thy  truth,  patient  as  a 
lamb.  For  it  is  a  righteous  cause,  and  it  is  thine  own.  I 
will  not  depart  from  thee,  now  nor  through  eternity.  And 
although  the  world  should  be  full  of  demons ;  although 
my  body,  which,  nevertheless,  is  the  work  of  thine  hands, 
should  be  doomed  to  bite  the  dust,  to  be  stretched  upon 
the  rack,  cut  into  pieces,  consumed  to  ashes,  the  soul  ia 
thine.  Yes ;  for  this  I  have  the  assurance  of  thy  Word 
My  soul  is  thine.  It  will  abide  near  thee  throughout  the 
endless  ages.     Amen.     O  God,  help  thou  me  !     Amen." 

Ah,  how  little  those  who  follow  know  the  agony  it  costs 
to  take  the  first  step,  to  venture  on  the  perilous  ground  no 
human  soul  around  has  tried. 

Insignificant  indeed  the  terrors  of  the  empire  to  ont 
who  had  seen  the  terrors  of  the  Almighty.  Petty  indeed 
*re  the  assaults  of  flesh  and  blood  t*^  him  who  has  M'itli- 
Btood  principalities  and  powers,  and  the  hosts  of  the  angcl 
of  darkness. 

At  four  o'clock  the  Marshal  of  the  Empire  came  to  load 
liiin  to  his  trial.  B'lt  his  real  hour  of  trial  was  over,  and 
calm  and  joyful  Dr  Luther  passed  tJirough  the  ciowded 
Blrects  U  the  imperial  presence. 


i32 


THE  SCHONBEBO-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


As  he  drcAv  near  the  door,  the  veteran  General  FreuDd* 
berg,  touching  his  shoulder,  said — 

"  Little  monk,  you  have  before  you  an  encounter  such 
is  neither  I  nor  any  other  captains  have  seen  the  like  oi 
even  in  our  bloodiest  campaigns.  But  if  your  cause  b« 
just,  and  if  you  know  it  to  be  so,  go  forward  in  the  name 
of  God,  and  fear  nothing.     God  Avill  not  forsake  you." 

Friendly  heart !  he  knew  not  that  our  Martin  Luther 
was  coming  from  his  battle-field,  and  was  simply  going  as 
a  conqueror  to  declare  before  men  the  victory  he  had  won 
from  mightier  foes. 

And  so  at  last  he  stood,  the  _monk,  the  peasant's  son, 
before  all  the  princes  of  the  empire,  the  kingliest  heart 
among  them  all,  crowned  with  a  majesty  Avhich  was  mcor- 
ruptibie,  because  invisible  to  worldly  eyes ;  one  against 
thousands  who  were  bent  on  his  destruction ;  one  in  front 
of  thousands  Avho  leant  on  his  fidelity ;  erect  because  he 
rested  on  that  unsaen  arm  above. 

The  words  he  spoke  that  day  are  ringing  thi"Ough  all 
Germany.     The  closing  sentence  Avill  never  be  forgotteit — 

"  Here  I  stand.  I  cannot  do  otherwise.  God  help  lue 
Amen." 

To  him  these  deeds  of  heroism  are  acts  of  sim2)le  obedi- 
ence; every  step  inevitable,  because  every  step  is  duty. 
In  this  path  he  leans  on  God's  help  absolutely  and  only. 
And  all  faithful  hearts  throughout  the  land  respond  to  liis 
\nien. 

On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the  polished  courtiers  and 
subtle  Roman  diplomatists  saw  no  eloquence  in  his  words, 
words  which  stirred  every  true  heart  to  its  depths.  "  That 
man,"  said  they,  "  will  never  convince  us."  How  should 
he  ?  His  arguments  were  not  in  their  language,  nor  ad 
dressed  to  them,  but  to  true  and  honest  hearts  ;  and  tc 
Buch  they  spoke. 

To  men  with  whom  eloquence  means  olaborata  fancies 


FRITZ'S  STORT.  333 

decorating  corrnption  or  veiling  emptiness,  what  could  St 
Paul  seem  but  a  "  babbler  ?" 

i\ll  men  of  earnest  purpose  acknowledged  their  force, 
— enemies,  by  indignant  clamour  that  he  should  be 
silenced  ;  friends,  by  wondering  gratitude  to  God,  who 
had  stood  by  him. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  Diet  broke  up.  As  Dr. 
Luther  came  out,  escorted  by  the  imperial  officers,  a  panic 
spread  through  the  crowd  collected  in  the  street,  and  from 
lip  to  lip  Avas  heard  the  cry, — 

"  They  are  taking  him  to  prison." 

"  They  are  leading  me  to  my  hotel,"  said  the  calm  voice 
of  him  whom  this  day  has  made  the  great  man  of  Ger- 
many.    And  the  tumult  subsided. 

Ebernburg,  June^  1521. 

DTI.  LUTHER  has  disappeared !  Not  one  that  I  have 
seen  knows  at  this  moment  where  tliey  have  taken 
aim,  whether  he  is  in  the  hands  of  friend  or  foe,  whether 
even  he  is  still  on  earth  ! 

We  ought  to  have  heard  of  his  arrival  at  Wittenberg 
many  days  since.  But  no  inauiries  can  tr»''e  him  beyond 
the  village  of  Mora  in  the  Thuringian  Fov-qst.  There  he 
went  from  Eisenach  on  his  way  back  to  Wittenberg,  to 
visit  his  aged  grandmother  nnd  sottp  of  h's  father's  rela- 
tions, peasant-farmers  who  I'vo  on  the  clearings  of  the 
forest.  In  his  grandmother's  lowly  home  he  passed  the 
night,  and  took  leave  of  her  th«  vext  rioruipg,  and  no  one 
has  heard  of  him  since. 

We  are  not  without  hope  ilmt  he  is  in  -rfie  hands  of 
friends ;  yet  fears  will  mingle  wuth  these  hopes.  His 
enemies  are  so  many  and  so  bitter,  no  moans  would  seem, 
to  many  of  them,  unworthy  to  rid  the  woHa  (^f  such  s 
heretic. 

While  ho  yet  remained  at  Worms  th<»  Roiitj,')*  s^ranu 


!Jf 


THE  SGHONBERO-UGTTA  FAMILY. 


oasly  in*isted  that  his  obsthiacy  bad  made  the  safe  con 
duct  invalid,  some  even  of  the  German  princes  urged  that 
he  should  be  seized ;  and  it  was  only  by  the  urgent  remon 
fitrances  of  others,  who  protested  that  they  Avould  never 
9ufl>3r  such  a  blot  on  German  honour,  that  he  was  saved. 

At  the  same  time,  the  most  insidious  efforts  were  made 
to  persuade  him  to  retract,  or  to  resign  his  safe-conduct, 
in  order  to  show  his  willingness  to  abide  by  the  issue  of  a 
fair  discussion.  This  last  effort,  appealing  to  Dr.  Luther's 
confidence  in  the  truth  for  which  he  was  ready  to  die,  had 
all  but  prevailed  with  him.  But  a  knight  who  was  pre- 
sent when  it  was  made,  seeing  through  the  treachery, 
fiercely  ejected  the  priest  who  proposed  it  from  the  house. 

Yet  through  all  assaults,  insidious  or  open.  Dr.  Luther 
remained  calm  and  unmo\ed,  moved  by  uo  threats,  ready 
to  listen  to  any  fiiir  proposition. 

Among  all  the  polished  courtiers  and  proud  princes  and 
prelates,  he  seemed  to  me  to  stand  like  an  ambassador 
from  an  imperial  court  among  the  petty  dignitaries  of  some 
petty  i)rovince.  His  manners  had  the  dignity  of  one  who 
has  been  accustomed  to  a  higher  presence  than  any  around 
him,  giving  to  every  one  the  honour  due  to  him,  indifferent' 
to  all  personal  slights,  but  inflexible  on  every  point  that 
concerned  the  honour  of  his  sovereign. 

Those  of  us  who  had  known  him  in  earlier  days  saw  in 
him  all  the  simplicity,  the  deep  earnestness,  the  childlike 
delight  in  simple  pleasures  we  had  known  in  him  of  old. 
''.t  was  our  old  friend  Martin  Luthe  •,  but  it  seemed  as  if 
&ur  Luther  bad  come  back  to  us  a"om  a  residence  in 
heaven,  such  a  peace  and  majesty  dwelt  in  all  he  said. 
One  incident  especially  struck  me.  When  the  glass  he 
was  about  to  drink  of  at  the  feast  given  by  the  Arch 
bishop  of  Treves,  one  of  the  papal  party,  shivered  in  his 
hand  as  ho  signed  the  cross  over  it,  and  his  friends  ex- 
claimed "poison!"  he  (so  ready  usually  to  see  spiritua) 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  335 

ngoucy  in  all  things)  quietly  observed  that  tho  "  glass  had 
doubtless  broke  on  account  of  its  having  been  plunged  too 
Boon  into  cold  Avater  when  it  was  washed." 

His  courage  was  no  effort  of  a  strong  nature.  He  simply 
trnsted  in  God  and  really  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

And  now  he  is  gone. 

Whether  among  friends  or  foes,  in  a  hospitable  refuga 
eiich  as  this,  or  in  a  hopeless  secret  dungeon,  to  us  for  the 
time  at  least  he  is  dead.  No  word  of  sympathy  or  counsel 
passes  between  us.  The  voice  to  which  all  Germany 
hushed  its  breath  to  listen  is  silenced. 

Under  the  excommunication  of  the  Pope,  under  the  ban 
of  the  empire,  branded  as  a  heretic,  sentenced  as  a  traitor, 
reviled  by  the  Emperor's  own  edict  as  "  a  fool,  a  blas- 
phemer, a  devil  clothed  in  a  monk's  cowl,"  it  is  made  trea- 
son to  give  him  food  or  shelter,  and  a  virtue  to  deliver  him 
to  death.  And  to  all  this,  if  he  is  living,  he  can  utter  no 
word  of  reply. 

Meantmie,  on  the  other  hand,  every  word  of  ins  is 
treasured  up  and  clothed  with  the  sacred  pathos  of  the 
dying  Avords  of  a  father.  The  noble  letter  which  he  wrote 
to  the  nobles  describing  his  appearance  before  the  Diet  is 
treasured  in  every  home. 

Yet  some  among  us  derive  not  a  little  hope  from  the  last 
letter  he  wrote,  Avhich  Avas  to  Lucas  Cranach,  from  Frank- 
fort.    In  it  he  says : 

"Tne  Jews  may  siixg  cnce  more  their  'lo!  lo  !'  but  to 
as  also  the  Easter-day  mW  come,  and  then  will  we  sing 
Alleluiah.  A  little  Avhile  Ave  must  be  silent  and  suffer.  'A 
little  Avhile,'  said  Christ,  '  and  ye  shall  not  see  me ,  and 
again  a  little  while  and  ye  shall  see  me.'  I  hope  it  may  be 
BO  noAV.  But  the  Avill  of  God,  the  best  in  all  things,  be 
done  in  this  as  in  heaven  and  earth.     Amen." 

Many  of  us  think  this  is  a  dim  hint  to  those  who  love 
him  that  he  knew  what  Avas  before  him,  and  that  afte"-  a 


j}6  TEE  SCHONBERG-i  OTTA  FAMILY. 

brief  cok  cealment  for  safety,  ''  till  this  tyranny  be  ov  e\ 
past,"  he  will  be  amongst  us  op  v.e  more. 

I,  at  least,  think  so,  and  prar  that  to  him  this  time  of 
silence  may  be  a  time  of  close  i  utercourse  with  God,  from 
which  he  may  come  forth  reft  'shed  and  strengthened  to 
guide  and  help  us  all. 

And  meantime,  a  woi-k,  not  A^ithout  peiil,  but  full  of 
?acred  joy,  opens  before  me.  I  }\%ye  been  supplied  by  the 
friends  of  Dr.  Luther's  doctrine  v'xth  copies  of  lira  books 
and  pamphlets,  both  in  Latin  an  J  Gorman,  which  I  am  to 
sell  as  a  hawker  through  the  lengl^i  and  breadth  cvC  Ger- 
many, and  in  any  other  lands  I  can  ptnstrate. 

I  am  to  start  to-morrow,  and  to  vwi  my  pack  and  '".trap 
are  burdens  more  glorious  than  the  nruiour  of  a  prii'>e  of 
the  empire ;  my  humble  pedlar's  coat  and  staff  are  yest* 
ments  more  sacred  than  the  robes  of  a  cardinal  cr  the 
wands  of  a  pilgrim. 

For  am  I  not  a  pilgrim  to  the  city  Mhich  hath  fcundi*. 
tions  ?  Is  not  my  yoke  the  yoke  of  Christ?  and  am  J  vk  t 
distributing,  among  thirsty  and  enslaved  men,  the  \yts\r '. 
c€  life  and  the  truth  which  sets  the  heart  free  ? 


XVI. 


FRITZ'S    STORY. 


Black  Forest,  May,  1531. 
HE  first  Aveek  of  my  wandering  life  is  over.  To 
day  my  way  lay  through  the  solitary  paths  of 
the  Black  Forest,  which,  eleven  years  ago,  1 
trod  with  Dr.  Martin  Luther,  on  our  pilgrim 
age  to  Rome.  Both  of  us  then  wore  the  monk's  frock  and 
cowl.  Both  were  devoted  subjects  of  the  Pope,  and  would 
have  deprecated,  as  tlie  lowest  depth  of  degradation,  his 
anathema.  Yet  at  that  very  time  Martin  Luther  bore  in 
his  lieart  the  living  germ  of  all  that  is  now  agitating  men's 
hearts  from  Pomerania  to  Spain.  He  was  already  a  freed- 
man  of  Christ,  and  ho  knew  it.  The  Holy  Scriptures  were 
already  to  him  the  one  living  fountain  of  truth.  Believing 
simply  in  Him  who  died,  the  just  for  the  unjust,  he  had 
received  the  free  pardon  of  his  sins.  Prayer  was  to  him 
the  confiding  petition  of  a  forgiven  child  received  to  the 
lieart  of  the  Father,  and  walking  humbly  by  his  side. 
Christ  he  knew  already  as  the  Confessor  and  Priest ;  the 
I  foly  Spirit  as  the  personal  teacher  through  his  own  Word. 
The  fetters  of  the  old  ceremonial  were  indeed  still  around 
him,  but  only  as  the  brown  casings  still  swathe  many  of 
the  swelling  buds  of  the  young  leaves ;  while  others,  this 
May  morning,  crackled  and  burst  as  I  passed  along  in  the 
15  (387) 


]38  THE  SCnONBERQ-VOTTA  FAMILY. 

silence  through  the  green  forest  paths.  The  moment  oi 
liberation,  to  the  passer-by,  always  seems  a  great,  suddec 
effort, ;  but  those  who  liave  watched  the  slow  swelling  of 
the  imprisoned  bud,  know  that  the  last  expansion  of  life 
which  bursts  the  scaly  cerements  is  but  one  moment  of  the 
imperceptible  but  incessant  growth,  of  which  even  the  ap- 
par9nt  death  of  winter  was  a  stage. 

But  it  is  good  to  live  in  the  spring-time ;  and  as  I  went 
on,  my  heart  sang  with  the  birds  and  Ih^  leaf-buds,  "For 
me  also  the  cereiients  of  winter  areb^.  \1)  •  ^or  me  and  fo' 
all  the  land  !" 

And  as  I  wj  'ked,  I  sang  aloud  tb,  tx-  '  F4**er  hytnn 
which  Eva  use^l  ^o  love : — 


Pone  hictum,  Magdalena, 
Et  Serena  lachrymas; 

Non  est  jam  sermonis  coBn» 
Non  cur  (letiim  exprima? 

Causae  mille  sunt  Isetandi, 

Causae  mille  exultandi, 

Alleluia  reaonet ' 

Suma  risum,  Magdalena, 
Frons  nitescat  lucida ; 

Denigravit  omnis  poena, 
Lux  coruscat  fulgida ; 

Christus  nondun .  liberavit, 

Et  de  morte  triumphavit : 
Alleluia  -esonet 


Gaude,  plaudc  Magdalena, 
Tumba  Christus  exiit; 

Tristis  est  per  acta  scena, 
Victor  mortis  rediit; 

Quern  deflebis  morientem, 

Hone  arride  resurgentem ; 
Alleluia  resonetl 


FRITZ'S  STOBT.  339 

ToUe  viiltum,  Magdalena, 

Redivivum  obstupe ; 
Vide  frons  quam  sit  amoena, 

Quinque  plagas  adspice ; 
Fulgent  sicut  margaritse, 
Ornamenta  novaj  vitie : 

Alleluia  resonet ! 


Vive,  vive,  Magdalena ! 

Tua  lux  reversa  est ; 
Gaudiis  turgescit  vena, 

Mortis  vis  obstersa  est; 
Maesti  procul  sunt  dolores, 
Laeti  redeant  amores ; 

Alleluia  resonet  1 


Yes,  even  in  the  old  dark  times,  lieavt  aftei  heart,  in 
quiet  homes  and  secret  convent  cells,  has  doubtless  learned 
this  hidden  joy.  But  now  the  Avoi-ld  seems  learning  it 
The  winter  has  its  robins,  with  their  solitary  warblings; 
but  now  the  spring  is  here,  the  songs  come  in  choruses, — 
and  thank  God  I  am  awake  to  listen ! 

But  the  voice  Avhich  awoke  tliis  music  tirst  in  my  heart, 
among  these  very  forests — and  since  then,  through  the 
grace  of  God,  in  countless  hearts  throughout  this  and  all 
lauds — what  silence  hushes  it  now  ?  The  silence  of  the 
grave,  or  only  of  some  friendly  refuge  ?  In  either  case, 
doubtless,  it  is  not  silent  to  God. 

I  had  scarcely  finished  my  hymn,  when  the  trees  became 
more  scattered  and  smaller,  as  if  they  had  been  cleared 
not  long  since  ;  and  I  found  myself  on  the  edge  of  a  valley, 
on  tiie  slopes  of  which  nestled  a  small  village,  with  its  spire 
and  belfry  rising  among  the  wooden  cottages,  and  flocka 
of  shee])  and  goats  grazing  in  the  pastures  beside  the  little 
stream  which  watered  it. 

I  lifted  up  my  heart  to  God,  that  some  hearts  in  that 


340  THE  SL'ndNBERO-COTTA  FAMILT. 

peaceful  place  might  welcome  the  message  of  eternal  peace 

throngli  the  books  I  carried. 

As  I  eiitered  the  village,  the  priest  came  out  of  the  par 
Bonage — and  courteously  saluted  me. 

I  offered  to  show  him  my  wares. 

"  It  is  not  likely  there  will  bo  anything  there  for  me,' 
he  said,  smiliiig.  "  My  days  are  over  for  ballads  and  sto 
ies  such  as  I  suppose  your  merchandise  consists  of" 

But  when  he  saw  the  name  of  Luther  on  the  titlepage  of 
a  volume  Avhich  I  showed  him,  his  face  changed,  and  he 
said  in  a  grave  voice,  "  Do  you  know  what  you  carry  ?" 

"  I  trust  I  do,"  I  replied.  "  I  carry  most  of  these  books 
in  my  heart  as  well  as  on  my  shoulders." 

"  But  do  you  know  the  danger  ?"  the  old  man  continued. 
"We  have  heard  that  Dr.  Luther  has  been  excommuni- 
cated by  the  Pope,  and  laid  under  tlie  ban  of  the  empire ; 
and  only  last  week,  a  travelling  merchant,  such  as  yourself, 
told  us  that  his  body  had  been  seen,  pierced  through  with 
a  hundred  wounds." 

"That  was  not  true  three  days  since,"  I  said.  "  At 
least,  his  best  friends  at  Worms  knew  notliing  of  it." 

"  Thank  Goa .'"  he  said ;  "  for  in  this  village  we  owe 
that  good  man  much.  And  if,"  he  added  timidly,  "he  has 
indeed  fallen  into  heresy,  it  would  be  well  he  had  time  to 
repent." 

In  that  village  I  sold  many  of  my  books,  and  left  others 
with  the  good  priest,  who  entertained  me  most  hospitably, 
and  sent  me  on  my  way  with  a  tearful  farewell,  compound 
fid  of  blessings,  v  arnings,  and  prayers. 


Paris,  July^  1521 . 

I  HAVE    crossed  the  French  frcntier,  and  have  beeu 
staying  some  days  in  this  great,  gay,  learned  city. 
Tr  Germany,  my  booke  procured  me  more  of  Avehonifl 
than   of  opposition.     In  some  cases,  even  where  the  local 


FlUl  i'8  STORY.  341 

authorities  deeme.l  it  their  duty  publicly  to  protest  against 
them,  they  themselves  secretly  assisted  in  their  distribu- 
tion. In  others,  the  eagerness  to  purchase,  and  to  glean 
any  fragment  of  information  about  Liither,  drew  a  crowd 
around  me,  who,  after  satisfying  themselves  that  I  had  no 
news  to  give  them  of  his  ])resent  state,  lingered  as  long  as 
I  would  speak,  to  listen  to  my  narrative  of  his  appearance 
before  the  Emperor  at  Worms,  while  murmurs  of  enthusi- 
astic approval,  and  often  sobs  and  tears,  testified  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  people  with  him.  In  the  towns,  many  more 
copies  of  his  "  Letter  to  the  German  Nobles"  were  de- 
manded than  I  could  supply. 

But  what  touched  me  most  was  to  see  the  love  and  al- 
most idolatrous  reverence  which  had  gathered  around  his 
name  in  remote  districts,  among  the  oppressed  and  toiling 
peasantry. 

I  remember  especially,  in  one  village,  a  fine-looking  old 
peasant  farmer  taking  me  to  an  inner  room  where  hung  a 
portrait  of  Luther,  encircled  with  a  glory,  with  a  curtain 
before  it. 

"  See !"  he  said.  "  The  lord  of  that  castle"  (and  he 
pointed  to  a  fortress  on  an  opposite  height)  "  has  wrought 
me  and  mine  many  a  wrong.  Two  of  my  sons  have  per- 
ished in  his  selfish  feuds,  and  his  huntsmen  lay  waste  my 
fields  as  they  choose  in  the  chase ;  yet,  if  I  shoot  a  deer,  I 
may  be  thrown  into  the  castle  dungeon,  as^mine  have  been 
before.  But  their  reign  is  nearly  over  now.  I  saw  thai 
man  at  Worms.  I  heard  him  speak,  bold  as  a  lion,  for  the 
truth,  before  Emperor,  princes,  and  prelates.  GoJ  has 
sent  us  the  deliverer;  and  the  reign' of  righteousness  will 
come  at  last,  when  every  man  shall  have  his  duo  " 

"Friend,"  I  said,  with  un  aching  heart,  "the  Deliverer 
came  fifteen  hundred  years  ago,  but  the  regn  of  justice  haa 
not  come  to  the  world  yet.  The  Deliverer  was  crucified^ 
and  his  followers  eince  then  ha-^e  suffered,  not  reigned." 


342  THIS  SCHGNBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

"  God  is  patient,"  lie  said,  "  and  we  have  been  patient 
long,  God  knows ;  but  I  trust  the  time  is  come  at  last," 

"  But  the  redemption  Dr.  Luther  proclaims,"  I  said, 
gently,  "  is  liberty  from  a  worse  bondage  than  that  of  the 
nobles,  and  it  is  a  liberty  no  tyrant,  no  dungeon,  can  de- 
prive us  of — the  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God ;" — and  he 
listened  earnestly  while  I  spoke  to  him  of  justification,  and 
the  suffering,  redeeming  Lord.     But  at  the  end  he  said — 

"  Yes,  that  is  good  news.  But  I  trust  Dr.  Luther  will 
avenge  many  a  Avrong  among  us  yet.  They  say  he  was  a 
peasant's  son  like  me." 

If  I  were  Dr.  Luther,  and  knew  that  the  wistful  eyes  of 
the  oppressed  and  sorrowful  throughout  the  land  wer* 
turned  to  me,  I  should  be  tempted  to  say — 

"  Lord,  let  me  die  before  these  oppressed  and  burdened 
hearts  learn  how  little  I  can  help  them !" 

For  verily  there  is  much  evil  done  under  the  sun.  Yet 
as  truly  there  is  healing  for  every  disease,  remedy  for  every 
wrong,  and  rest  from  every  burden,  in  the  tidings  Dr.  Lu 
ther  brings ;  but  remedy  of  a  diflerent  kind,  I  fear,  from 
what  too  many  fondly  expect. 

It  is  strange,  also,  to  see  how,  in  these  few  weeks,  the 
wildest  tales  have  sprung  up  and  spread  in  all  directions 
about  Dr.  Luther's  disappearance.  Some  say  he  has  been 
secretly  murdered,  and  that  his  wounded  corpse  has  beeu 
seen ;  others,  that  he  was  borne  away  bleeding  through 
the  forest  to  sonie  dreadful  doom ;  Avhile  others  boldly  as- 
sert that  he  will  re-appear  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  libera- 
tors,  who  wull  go  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
land,  redressing  every  wrong,  and  punishing  every  wrong- 
doer. 

Truly,  if  a  few  weeks  can  throw  such  a  haze  around 
facts,  what  would  a  century  without  a  written  record  hav€ 
done  for  Christianity ;  or  what  would  that  record  itself 
have  been  without  inspiration  ? 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


343 


The  country  was  in  some  parts  very  distui'bed.  Jn  Al- 
Kace  I  came  on  a  secret  meeting  of  tlie  peasants,  who  have 
bo-imcl  themselves  Avith  the  most  vCrrible  oaths  to  wage 
war  to  the  death  against  tlie  nobles. 

More  than  once  I  was  stopped  by  a  troop  of  liorscmen 
acar  a  castle,  and  my  wares  searched,  to  see  if  they  be- 
onged  to  the  merchants  of  some  city  with  whom  the 
knight  of  the  castle  was  at  feud ;  and  on  one  of  these  oc- 
casions it  might  have  fared  ill  with  me  if  a  troop  of  Land- 
^knechts  in  the  service  of  the  empire  had  not  appeared  in 
lime  to  rescue  me  and  my  companions. 

Yet  everywhere  the  name  of  Luther  was  of  equal  inter- 
est. The  peasants  believed  he  would  rescue  them  from 
the  t}Tanny  of  the  nobles  ;  and  many  of  the  knights  spoke 
of  hiin  as  the  assertor  of  German  liberties  against  a  foreign 
yoke.  More  than  one  poor  parish  priest  welcomed  him  as 
the  deliverer  from  the  avarice  of  the  great  abbeys  or  the 
prelates.  Thus,  in  farm-house  and  hut,  in  castle  and  par- 
sonage, I  and  my  books  found  many  a  cordial  welcome. 
And  all  I  could  do  was  to  sell  the  books,  and  tell  all  who 
would  listen,  that  the  yoke  Lutlier's  words  were  powerful 
to  break  was  the  yoke  of  the  devil,  the  prince  of  all  op- 
pressors, and  that  the  freedom  he  came  to  republish  Avas 
freedom  from  the  tyranny  of  sin  and  self 

My  true  welcome,  however,  the  one  which  rejoiced  my 
heart,  was  Avhen  any  said,  as  many  did,  on  sick-beds,  in 
lowly  and  noble  homes,  and  in  monasteries — 

"  Thank  God,  these  words  are  in  o'u-  hearts  already, 
They  have  taught  us  the  way  to  God ;  tiity  have  brought 
us  peace  and  freedom." 

Or  when  others  sai<l — 

"  I  must  have  that  book.  This  one  and  that  one  that  1 
know  is  another  man  since  he  read  Dr.  Luther's  Avords." 

But  if  I  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  interest  felt  in 
Dr.  Luther  in  our  own  land,  true  German  tliat  be  is,  Btill 


344  THE  8CIWNBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

less  did  I  expect  that  his  fame  would  have  reached  to  I'aris, 
and  even  further. 

Tlie  night  before  I  reached  this  city  I  was  weary  with  a 
long  day's  walk  in  the  dust  and  heat,  and  had  fallen  asleep 
»»:  a  bench  in  the  garden  outside  a  village  inn,  under  the 
:>liade  of  a  trellised  vine,  leaving  my  pack  partly  open  be 
"side  me.  When  I  awoke,  a  grave  and  dignified-looking 
rnan,  who,  from  the  richness  of  his  dress  and  arms,  seemed 
to  be  a  nobleman,  and,  from  the  cut  of  his  slashed  doublet 
and  mantle,  a  Spaniard,  sat  beside  me,  deeply  engaged  in 
reading  one  of  my  books.  I  did  not  stir  at  first,  but 
watched  hmi  m  silence.  The  book  he  held  was  a  copy  of 
Luther's  Commentary  on  the  Galatians,  in  Latin. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  moved,  and  respectfully  saluted  him. 

"  Is  this  book  for  sale  ?"  he  asked. 

I  said  it  was,  and  named  the  price. 

lie  immediately  laid  down  twice  the  sum,  saying,  "  Givo 
a  co^jy  to  some  one  who  cannot  buy." 

I  ventured  to  ask  if  he  liad  seen  it  before. 

"I  have,"  he  said.  "Several  copies  v^ere  sent  by  a 
Swiss  printer,  Frobenius.  to  Castile.  And  I  saw  it  before 
at  Venice.  It  is  prohibited  in  both  Castile  and  Venice 
now.  But  I  have  always  wished  to  possess  a  copy,  that  I 
might  judge  for  myself  Do  you  know  Dr.  LutJier  ?"  he 
asked,  as  he  moved  away. 

"  I  have  known  and  reverenced  him  for  many  years,"  I 
said. 

"  They  say  his  life  is  blameless,  do  they  not  ?"  he 
asked. 

'*  E\  en  his  bitterest  enemies  confess  it  to  be  so,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"Ha  spoke  like  a  brave  man  before  the  Diet,  he  re- 
sumed ;  "  gravely  and  quietly,  as  true  men  speak  who  are 
prepared  to  abide  by  their  words.  A  noble  of  Castile 
e<»uld  nut  have  spoken  with  more  dignity  than  that  poas- 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


3+5 


Mit'is  son,  The  Italian  priests  thought  otherwise  ;  but  th« 
oratory  which  loells  girls  into  tears  from  pulpits  is  not  the 
eloquence  for  tLe  councils  of  men.  That  little  monk  had 
learned  his  oratory  in  "a  higher  school.  If  you  ever  see 
Dr.  Luther  again,"  he  added,  "  tell  him  that  some  Spani- 
ards, even  in  the  Emperor's  court,  wished  him  well." 

And  here  in  Paris  I  find  a  little  band  of  devout  and 
learned  men,  Lefevre,  Farel,  and  Bri9onnet,  bishop  of 
Meaux,  actively  employed  in  translating  and  circulating 
the  writings  of  Luthur  and  Melancthoii.  The  truth  in 
them,  they  say,  they  had  learned  before  from  the  book  of 
God  itself,  namely,  justi^'cation  through  faith  in  a  crucified 
Saviour  leading  to  a  life  devoted  to  him.  But  jealous  as 
tlie  French  are  of  admitting  the  superiority  of  anything 
foreign,  and  contemptuously  as  they  look  on  us  unpolished 
Germans,  the  French  priests  Avelcome  Luther  as  a  teacher 
and  a  brother,  and  are  as  eager  to  hear  all  particulars  of 
his  life  as  his  countrymen  in  every  town  and  quiet  village 
throughout  Germany. 

They  tell  me  also  that  t^'o  king's  own  sister,  the  beauti- 
ful and  learned  Duchess  Margaret  of  Yalois,  reads  Dr. 
Luther's  writings,  and  values  them  gretdy. 

Indeed,  I  sometimes  think  if  he  had  civried  out  the  in- 
tention he  formed  some  years  since,  of  leax'lT^g  Wittenberg 
for  Paris,  he  would  have  fou?\d  a  noble  nn!bere  of  action 
here.  The  people  are  so  frank  in  speech,  so  quick  in  feel- 
ing and  perception  ;  and  their  bvight  keen.  ^  H  cuts  so 
much  more  quickly  to  the  heart  oi%  fallacy  thsn  O'vr  sober, 
plodding,  Northern  intellect. 

BEFORE  I  left  Ebernburg,  the  knight  ULich  von 
Ilutten  had  taken  a  Avarm  interest  in  my  expedi V^on ; 
had  especially  recommended  me  to  seek  out  Erasmus  if 
ever  I  reached  Switzerland  ;  and  had  himself  ulaceJ  '^(►»»ie 
16* 


346  THE  SOHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

coj)ies  of  Erasmus'  sermons,  "Praise  of  Folly,"  amoug  1x15 
books. 

Personally  J  feel  a  strong  attachment  to  that  brave 
knight.  I  csn  never  forget  the  generous  letter  he  ^'rotf 
to  Luther  before  Lis  appearance  at  the  Diet : — "  The  Lord 
hear  thee  in  the  day  of  trouble :  the  name  of  the  God  of 
Jacob  defend  thee.  O  my  beloved  Luther,  my  revered 
father,  fear  not ;  be  strong.  Fight  valiantly  for  Christ. 
As  for  me,  I  also  will  fight  bravely.     Would  to  God  I 

might  see  how  they  knit  their  brows May  Christ 

preserve  you." 

Yes,  to  see  the  baffled  enemies  knit  their  brows  as  they 
iid  then,  would  have  been  a  triumph  to  the  impetuous 
soldier,  but  at  the  time  he  was  prohibited  from  ap 
proacliing  the  Court.  Luther's  courageous  and  noble  de- 
fence filled  him  with  enthusiastic  admiration,  lie  declared 
the  doctor  to  be  a  greater  soldier  than  any  of  the  knights. 
When  we  heard  of  Luther's  disappearance  he  would  have 
collected  a  band  of  daring  spirits  like  himself,  and  scoured 
the  country  in  search  of  him.  Hutten's  objects  were  high 
and  miselfish.  He  had  no  mean  and  petty  ambitions. 
With  sword  and  pen  he  had  contended  against  oppression 
and  hypocrisy.  To  him  the  Koman  Court  was  detestable, 
chiefly  as  a  foreign  yoke  ;  the  corrupt  priesthood,  as  a  do- 
mestic usurpation.  He  had  a  high  ideal  of  knighthood, 
and  believed  that  his  order,  enlightened  by  ?ean/ing,  and 
inspired  by  a  free  and  lofty  faith,  might  emancipate  Ger 
many  and  Christendom.  Personal  danger  he  despised,  and 
personal  aims. 

Yet  with  all  his  fearlessness  and  high  aspirations,  I 
scarcely  think  he  hoped  himself  to  be  the  hero  of  his  ideal 
ehivali-y.  The  self-control  of  the  pure  true  knigit  waa 
too  little  bis.  In  his  visions  of  a  Christendom  fnra  which 
falsehood  and  avarice  were  to  be  banished,  and  jvhcre 
authority  was  to  reside  in  an  order  of  ideal  kn'ghts  Fra'\z 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  547 

von  Sickingen,  the  brave  good  lord  of  Ebernburg,  with 
his  devout  wi^e  Iledwiga,  was  to  raise  the  standard,  around 
svhich  Uhich  and  all  the  true  men  in  the  land  were  to 
rally.  Luther,  Erasmus,  and  Sickingen,  he  thought — tho 
types  of  the  three  orders,  learning,  knighthood,  and  priest- 
hood,— might  regenerate  the  world. 

Erasmus  had  begun  the  work  with  unveiling  the  light 
in  the  sanctuaries  of  learning.  Luther  had  carried  it  on 
by  diiFusing  the  light  among  the  people.  The  knighta 
must  complete  it  by  forcibly  scattering  tho  powers  of  dark- 
ness. Conflict  is  Erasmus'  detestation.  It  is  Luther'a 
necessity.     It  is  Hutten's  delight. 

I  did  not,  however,  expect  much  sympathy  in  my  work 
fiom  Erasmus.  It  seemed  to  me  that  liutten,  admiring 
his  clear,  luminous  genius,  attributed  to  him  the  fire  of  hia 
own  Avarm  and  courageous  heart.  However,  I  intended 
to  seek  him  out  at  Basil. 

Circumstances  saved  me  the  trouble. 

As  I  was  entering  the  city,  with  my  pack  nearly  empty, 
hoping  to  replenish  it  from  the  presses  of  Frobenius,  S\W 
elderly  man,  with  a  stoop  in  his  shoulders,  giving  him  the 
air  of  a  student,  ambled  slowly  past  me,  clad  in  a  doctoi  's 
gow^n  and  hat,  edged  with  a  broad  border  of  fur.  The 
keen,  small  dark  eyes  surveyed  me  and  my  pack  for  a 
minute,  and  then  reining  in  his  horse  he  joined  me,  and 
said,  in  a  soft  voice  and  courtly  accent,  "  We  are  of  the 
same  profession,  fi-iend.  We  manufacture,  and  you  sell. 
What  have  yon  in  your  pack?'* 

I  took  out  three  of  my  remaining  volumes.  One  was 
Luther's  '  Commentary  on  the  Galutians  ;"  the  others,  hiii 
"  Treatise  on  the  Lord's  Prayer,"  and  his  "  Letter  to  the 
German  Nobles." 

The  rider's  brow  darkened  slightly,  and  he  eyed  me 
•uspiciously. 

"Men  who  sui)ply  amm(mitiou  to  tho  people  m  time«  of 


3^8  TEE  SCnONBERO-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

insurrection  seldom  do  it  at  their  own  risk,"  he  said 
**  Young  man,  you  are  on  a  perilous  missioUi  and  would  dfl 
well  to  count  the  cost." 

"I  have  counted  the  cost,  sir,"  I  said,  "and  I  willingl) 
brave  the  peril." 

"  Well,  well,"  he  replied,  "  some  are  born  for  battle- 
fields, and  some  for  martyrdom  ;  others  for  neither.  Let 
each  keep  to  his  calling, — 

'  Nequissimam  pacera  justissimo  bello  antifero.' 

But  '  those  who  let  in  the  sea  on  the  marshes  little  know 
wliere  it  Avill  spread.'  " 

This  illustration  from  the  Dutch  dikes  awakened  my 
Buspicions  as  to  who  the  rider  was,  aud  looking  at  the  thin, 
BcnsitiA^e,  yet  satirical  lips,  the  delicate,  sharply-cut  fea- 
tures, the  pallid  complexion,  and  the  dark  keen  eyes  I  had 
seen  represented  in  so  many  portraits,  I  could  not  doubt 
with  whom  I  was  speaking.  But  I  did  not  betray  my  dis- 
covery. 

"  Dr.  Luther  has  written  some  good  things,  neverthe- 
less," he  said.  "  If  he  had  kejit  to  such  devotional  works 
as  this,"  returning  to  me  "  The  Lord's  Prayer,"  "  he  might 
have  served  his  generation  quietly  and  well ;  but  to  ex- 
pose such  mysteries  as  are  treated  of  here  to  the  vulgar 
gaze,  it  is  madness !"  and  he  hastily  closed  the  "  Gala« 
tians."  Then  glancing  at  the  "  Letter  to  the  Nobles,"  he 
almost  threw  it  into  my  hand,  saying  petulantly, — 

"  That  pamphlet  is  an  insurrection  in  itself. 

"  What  other  books  have  you  ?"  he  asked  after  a  paus^ 

I  drew  out  my  last  copy  of  the  "  Encomium  of  Folly." 

"  Have  you  sold  many  of  these  ?"  he  asked  coolly. 

*'■  All  but  this  cc  ny,"  I  replied. 

''  And  what  did  people  say  of  it  ?" 

"  That  depended  on  the  purchasers,"  I  replied.  "  Some 
9*y  the  author  is  the  wisest  and  wittiest  man  of  the  ag«, 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  349 

ftnd  if  all  knew  where  to  stop  as  he  does,  the  world  would 
slowly  grow  into  paradise,  instead  of  being  turned  upside 
down  as  it  is  now.  Others,  on  tlie  contrary,  say  that  the 
writer  is  a  coward,  who  has  no  courage  to  confess  the 
truth  he  knows.  And  others,  again,  declare  the  000k  is 
worse  than  any  ol  Luther's,  and  that  Erasmus  is  the  source 
of  all  the  mischief  m  the  Avorld,  since  if  he  had  not  broken 
the  lock,  Luther  would  never  have  entered  the  door." 

"  And  you  think  ?"  he  asked, 

"  I  am  but  a  poor  pedlar,  sir,"  I  said  ;  "  but  I  think 
there  is  a  long  way  between  Pilate's  delivering  up  the 
glorious  King  he  knew  was  innocent — perhaps  began  to 
see  might  be  divhie,  and  St.  Peter's  denying  the  Master 
he  loved.  And  the  Lord  who  forgave  Peter  knows  which 
is  which  ;  Avhich  tlie  timid  disciple,  and  wliich  the  cowardly 
friend  of  His  foes.  But  the  eye  of  man,  it  seems  to  me, 
may  find  it  impossible  to  distinguish.  I  would  rather  be 
Lutlier  at  the  Diet  of  Worms,  and  under  anathema  and 
ban,  than  either." 

"  Bold  words,"  he  sai-l,  "  to  prefer  an  excommunicated 
heretic  to  the  prince  of  tlie  apostles." 

But  a  shade  passed  over  his  face,  and  courteously  bid- 
ding me  farewell,  he  rode  on. 

The  conversation  seemed  to  have  thrown  a  shadow  and 
chill  over  my  heart. 

After  a  time,  however,  the  rider  slackened  his  paoe 
again,  and  beckoned  to  me  to  rejoin  him. 

•'  Have  you  friends  in  Basil 't  *'  he  asked  kindly. 

"  None,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  I  have  letters  to  the  printer 
Frobenius,  and  I  was  recommended  to  seek  out  Erasmus." 

"  Who  recommended  you  to  do  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

•  The  good  knight  Ulrich  von  Hutten,"  I  replied. 

"  The  prince  of  all  turbulent  spirits !  "  he  murmured 
gravely.  "  Little  indeed  is  there  in  common  between 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam  and  that  firebrand." 


55©  THE  SCn6NBERO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

"  Ritler  Ulrich  has  the  greatest  admiration  lor  tli« 
genius  of  Erasmus,"  I  said,  "  and  thinks  that  his  learning, 
with  the  swords  of  a  feAv  gDod  knights,  and  the  preaching 
of  Luther,  might  set  Christendom  right." 

"  Ulrich  von  Huttcn  should  set  his  own  life  right  first," 
>9as  the  rej^ly.  "  But  let  us  leave  speaking  of  Christendom 
and  these  great  projects,  which  are  altogether  beyond  our 
■phere.  Let  the  knights  set  chivalry  right,  and  the  cardi- 
nals the  papacy,  and  the  emperor  the  empire.  Let  the 
hawker  attend  to  his  pack,  and  Erasmus  to  his  studies. 
Perhaps  hereafter  it  will  be  found  that  his  satires  on  the 
folUes  of  the  monasteries,  and  above  all  his  earlier  transla- 
tion of  the  New  Testament,  had  their  share  in  the  good 
work.  His  motto  is,  '  Kindle  the  light,  and  the  darkness 
will  disperse  of  itself  " 

"  If  Erasmus,"  I  said,  "  would  only  consent  to  share  in  the 
result  he  has  indeed  contributed  so  nobly  to  bring  about !" 

"  Share  in  what  ?"  he  replied  quickly  ;  "  in  the  excom- 
munication of  Luther  ?  or  in  the  Avild  projects  of  Hutten  ? 
Have  it  supposed  that  he  approves  of  the  coarse  and 
violent  invectives  of  the  Saxon  monk,  or  the  daring 
schemes  of  the  adventurous  knight  ?  No  ;  St.  Paul  wrote 
courteously,  and  never  returned  railing  for  railing.  Eras- 
mus should  wait  till  he  find  a  reformer  like  the  apostle  ere 
he  join  the  Reformation.  But,  friend,"  he  added,  "  I  do 
not  deny  that  Luther  is  a  good  man,  and  means  well.  If 
you  like  to  abandon  your  perilous  pack,  and  take  to  study, 
you  may  come  to  my  house,  and  I  will  help  you  as  far  ad 
T  can  with  money  and  counsel.  For  I  know  what  it  is  to 
be  poor,  and  I  think  you  ought  to  be  better  than  a  hawker. 
And,"  he  added,  brhiging  his  horse  to  a  stand,  "  if  you 
hear  Erasmus  maligned  again  as  a  cowird  or  a  traitor, 
you  may  say  that  God  has  more  room  in  his  kingdom  than 
any  men  have  in  their  schools  ;  and  that  it  is  not  always 
80  easy  for  men  who  see  things  on  many  sides  to  embrace 


FRITZ'S  STOUT. 


351 


oiic.  Believe  also  that  the  loneliness  of  those  who  see  too 
much  or  dare  too  little  to  be  partisans,  often  has  anguish 
bitterer  than  the  scaffolds  of  martyrs.  But,"  he  con- 
cluded in  a  low  voice,  as  he  left  me,  "  be  careful  never 
again  to  link  the  names  of  Erasmus  and  Hutten.  1  assure 
you  nothing  can  be  more  unlike.  And  Ubich  von  Hutteii 
is  a  most  rash  and  dangerous  man." 

"  I  Avill  be  careful  never  to  forget  Erasmus,"  I  said, 
bowing  low,  as  I  took  the  hand  he  offered.  And  the 
doctor  rode  on. 

Yes,  the  sorrows  of  the  xuidecided  are  doubtless  bitterer 
than  those  of  the  courageous  ;  bitterer  as  poison  is  bitterer 
than  medicine,  as  an  enemy's  wound  is  bitterer  than  a 
physician's.  Yet  it  is  true  that  the  clearer  the  insight 
into  difficulty  and  danger,  the  greater  need  be  the  courage 
to  meet  them.  The  path  of  the  rude  simple  man  who 
sees  nothing  but  I'ight  on  one  side,  and  nothing  but  wrong 
on  the  other,  is  necessarily  plainer  than  his  who,  seeing 
much  evil  in  the  goofl  cause,  and  some  truth  at  the  foun- 
dation of  all  error,  chooses  to  suffer  for  the  right,  mixed 
as  it  is,  and  to  suffer  side  by  side  with  men  whose  man- 
ners distress  him,  just  because  he  believes  the  cause  is  on 
the  whole  that  of  truth  and  God.  Luther's  school  may  u:>t 
indeed  have  room  for  Erasmus,  nor  Erasmus'  school  for 
Luther  ;  but  God  may  hav3  compassion  and  room  for  bo'.h. 
At  Basil  I  replenished  my  pack  from  the  stores  of  F.o- 
benius,  and  received  very  inspiriting  tidings  from  him  of 
the  spread  of  the  truth  of  the  Gospel  (especially  by  mesns 
of  the  writings  of  Luther)  into  Italy  and  Spain.  I  did 
uot  apply  further  to  Erasmus. 


Weak  Zurich,  Jucy: 
Y  heart  is  full  of  resurrection  hymns.     Every  w;  ere 
in  the  world  it  seems  Easter-tide.     This  niorr  aig, 
I  left  Zurich,  and,  climbing  one  of  the  heights  on  thii 


M 


352  TEE  SCHONBERO-COVTA  FAMILY. 

side,  looked  down  on  the  lake,  rippled  with  silver,  throngi 
the  ranges  of  green  and  forest  covered  hills,  to  the  glori- 
ous  barrier  of  far-off  mountains,  purple,  and  golden,  and 
snoAV-crowned,  Avhich  encircles  Switzerland,  and  thought 
of  the  many  hearts  which,  during  these  jears,  have  been 
awakened  here  to  the  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God,  tl  e  old 
chw^t  of  Easter  and  Spring  burst  from  my  lips  : — 

Plaudite  cceli, 
Rideat  jether 
Summua  et  imus 
Gaudeat  orbis  I 
Transivit  at.vae 
Turba  procellsB  I 
Subuit  abnse 
Gloria  palmse  I 

Surgite  verni, 
Surgite  flores. 
Germina  pictio 
Surgite  canipis  I 
Teneris  mistse 
Violis  rosse ; 
Candida  sparsis 
Lilia  calthis  I 

Currite  plenis 
Carmina  venis, 
Fundite  Ifetiim 
Barbita  metrum ; 
Namque  revixit 
Sicuti  dixit 
Pius  illsesus 
Funere  Jesus. 

Flandite  montes 

Ludite  fontea, 
Resonent  vaLes, 
Etej  «tant  colles  I 


FBITZ'S  STOSr.  353 

lo  rerixit 

Sciente  dixit 
Pius  illfesus 
Funere  Jesus.* 

And  when  I  ceased,  the  mountain  stream  vLIua  dashed 
Dver  the  rocks  beside  me,  the  whisperiujr  grv^sts,  t't« 
a"€ml)ling  wild  flowers,  the  rustling  forests   au> .' Aj  v-  ili 

•  Smile  praises,  0  sky  ! 

Soft  breathe  them,  0  air. 
Below  and  on  high. 

And  everywhere ! 
The  black  troop  of  storms 

Has  yielded  to  calm  ; 
Tufted  blossoms  are  peeping, 

And  early  palm. 

Awake  ye,  0  spring  ! 

Ye  flowers,  come  forth. 
With  thousand  hues  tinting 

The  soft  green  earth  I 
Ye  violets  tender. 

And  sweet  roses  bright, 
Gay  Lcnt-lilies  blended 

With  pure  lilies  white. 

Sweep  tides  of  rich  music 

The  new  world  along. 
And  pour  in  full  measure, 

Sweet  lyres,  your  song! 
Sing,  sing,  for  lie  liveth  I 

He  lives,  as  He  said  ; — 
The  Lord  has  arisen. 

Unharmed,  from  the  dead  1 

Clap,  clap  your  hands,  mouDtalM 

Ye  valleys,  resound  ! 
Leap,  leap  for  joy,  fountains  . 

Ye  hills,  catch  the  sound  I 
All  triumph  ;  He  liveth  ! 

He  lives,  as  He  said: 
The  Lord  has  arisen, 

Ccbarnied,  from  the  'lead : 


354  TEE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

its  rippks,  the  green  hills  aud  solemn  snow-mountainw 
beyond — all  seemed  to  take  up  the  chcrus. 

There  is  a  wonderfu.,  invigorating  influence  about  Ul- 
rich  Zwingle,  with  whom  I  have  spent  many  days  lately. 
It  seems  as  if  the  fresh  air  of  the  mountains  among  which 
he  passed  his  youth  were  always  around  him.  In  his 
presence  it  is  impossible  to  despond.  While  Luther  re- 
mains immovably  holding  at  every  step  he  has  taken, 
Zwingle  presses  on,  and  surprises  the  enemy  asleep  in  hia 
strongholds.  Luther  carries  on  the  war  like  the  Land&- 
knechts,  our  own  firm  and  impenetrable  infantry ;  Zwin- 
gle, like  his  own  impetuous  mountaineers,  sweeps  down 
from  the  heights  upon  the  foe. 

In  Switzerland  I  and  my  books  have  met  with  more  sud- 
den and  violent  varieties  of  reception  than  anywhere  else ; 
the  people  are  so  free  and  unrestrained.  In  some  villages, 
the  chief  men,  or  the  priest  himself,  sujiimoned  all  the  in- 
habitants by  the  church  bell,  to  hear  all  I  had  to  tell  about 
Dr.  Luther  and  his  work,  and  to  buy  his  books ;  my  stay 
was  one  constant  fete ;  and  the  warm-hearted  peasants 
accompanied  me  miles  on  my  way,  discoursing  of  Zwingle 
and  Luther,  the  broken  yoke  of  Rome,  and  the  glorious 
days  of  freedom  that  were  coming.  The  names  of  Luther 
and  Zwingle  were  on  every  lip,  like  those  of  Tell  and 
Winkelried  and  the  heroes  of  the  old  struggle  of  Swiss 
liberation. 

In  other  villages,  on  the  contrary,  the  peasants  gathered 
angrily  around  me,  reviled  me  as  a  spy  and  an  intruding 
foreigner,  and  drove  me  with  stones  and  rough  jests  from 
among  them,  threatening  that  I  should  not  escape  so  easily 
another  time. 

In  some  places  they  have  advanced  much  further  than 
among  us  in  Germany.  The  images  have  been  remu^od 
from  the  churches,  and  the  service  is  read  in  the  language 
of  the  people. 


FRITZ' 8  ST0R7. 


355 


fe^t  the  great  joy  is  to  see  that  the  light  has  not  been 
t^ead  only  from  toi'ch  to  torch,  as  human  iUuminationa 
spread,  but  has  burst  at  once  on  Germany,  Frant^e,  and 
Switzerland,  as  heavenly  light  dawns  from  above.  It  ia 
this  which  makes  it  not  a  lurid  illumination  merely,  but 
morning  and  spring.  Lefevre  in  France  and  Zwingle  in 
Switzerland  both  passed  through  their  period  of  storms 
and  darkness,  and  both,  awakened  by  the  heavenly  light 
to  the  new  world,  found  that  it  was  no  solitude — that, 
others  were  also  aAvake,  and  that  the  day's  work  had  be- 
gun, as  it  should,  with  matin  songs. 

Now  I  am  tending  northwards  once  more.  I  intend  to 
renew  my  stores  at  my  father's  press  at  Wittenberg.  My 
heart  yearns  also  for  news  of  all  dear  to  me  there.  Perhaps, 
too,  I  may  yet  see  Dr.  Luther,  and  find  scope  for  preach- 
ing the  evangelical  doctrine  among  my  own  people. 

For  better  reports  have  come  to  us  from  Germany,  and 
we  believe  Dr.  Luther  is  in  friendly  keeping,  though  wheie 
is  still  a  mystery. 

The  Prison  of  a  Dominican  Convent, 
Franconia,  August. 

ALL  is  changed  for  me.  Once  more  prison  walls  aro 
around  me,  and  through  prison  bars  I  look  out  on 
the  world  I  may  not  re-enter.  I  counted  this  among  the 
costs  when  I  resolved  to  give  myself  to  spreading  far  and 
wide  the  glad  tidings  of  redemption.  It  was  worth  the 
cost;  it  is  worth  whatever  man  can  inflict — for  I  trust 
those  days  have  not  been  spent  in  vain. 

Yesterday  evening,  as  the  day  was  sinking,  I  found  my 
way  once  more  to  the  parsonage  of  Priest  Iluprecht  in  the 
Franconian  village.  The  door  was  open,  but  I  heard  no 
voices.  There  was  a  neglected  look  about  the  little  gar- 
den. The  vine  was  hanging  untwined  around  the  jtorcn, 
rhe  little  dwelling,  which  had  been  so  neat,  had  a  dreary, 


356  TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

noglected  air.  Dust  lay  tLiok  on  the  chairs,  and  the  re- 
mains  of  tlie  last  meal  were  left  on  the  table.  And  yet  it 
was  evidently  not  unoccupied.  A  book  lay  upon  tha 
window-sill,  evidently  lately  read.  It  was  tho  copy  of 
Luther's  German  Commentary  on  the  Lord's  Pn  yer  which 
1  had.  left  on  that  evening  many  months  ago  in  the  porch 

I  sat  down  in  a  Avindow  seat,  and  in  a  little  m  hile  I  saw 
the  priest  coming  slowly  up  the  garden.  His  form  was 
mucli  bent  since  I  saw  him  last.  He  did  not  loo  c  up  as  he 
approached  the  house.  It  seemed  as  if  he  ex  pected  no 
welcome.  But  when  I  went  out  to  meet  him,  b  ?  grasped 
ray  hand  cordially,  and  his  face  brightened.  W  hen,  how- 
ever, he  glanced  at  the  book  in  my  hand,  a  de  per  shade 
passed  over  his  brow ;  and  motioning  me  to  a  cl  wr,  he  sat 
down  opposite  me  without  speaking. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  looked  up,  and  said  n  a  husky 
voice,  "  That  book  did  what  all  the  denunciatic  iS  «nd  ter- 
rors of  the  old  doctrine  could  not  do.  It  seif>ar&*,ed  us. 
She  has  left  me." 

He  paused  for  some  minutes,  and  then  crntinued, — 
"The  evening  that  she  found  that  book  in  the  {.orch,  R'hen 
I  returned  I  found  her  reading  it  '  See  !*  she  &<iid,  '  at  last 
some  one  has  written  a  religious  book  for  me!  It  was 
left  here  open,  in  the  porch,  at  these  words :  "  If  thou  dost 
feel  that  in  the  sight  of  God  and  all  creature»  thou  art  a 
fool,  a  sinner,  impure,  and  condemned,  ....  there  remain- 
eth  no  solace  for  thee,  and  no  salvation,  unless  in  Jesus 
Christ.  To  know  him  is  to  understand  whj^t  the  apostle 
eays, — '  Christ  has  of  God  been  made  imto  us  wisdom,  and 
righteousness,  and  sanctification,  and  redemption.'  He  is 
the  bread  of  God — our  bread,  given  to  us  J*s  children  of 
the  heavenly  Father.  To  beueve  is  nothing  else  than  to 
eat  this  bread  from  heaven."  And  look  again.  The  book 
Bays  it  touches  God's  heart  when  we  call  him  Father, — 
and  agaui,  "  Which  art  in  heaven."     He  that  acknowledges 


trjirrz's  STOUT 


357 


he  hag  a  Fath(».i  who  is  in  heaven,  owns  that  he  is  like  as 
orj)han  on  the  earth.  Hence  his  heart  feels  an  ardent  long- 
ing, like  a  child  living  away  from  its  father's  country, 
amongit  strange"S,  wretched  and  forlorn.  It  is  as  if  he 
Baid,  "Alas!  my  Father,  thou  art  in  heaven,  and  I,  thy 
miserable  child,  am  on  the  earth,  far  from  thee,  amid  dan- 
ger, necessity,  and  sorrow."  Ah,  Ruprecht,'  she  said,  her 
eyes  streaming  with  tears,  '  that  is  so  like  what  I  feel, — so 
lost,  and  orphaned,  and  for  away  from  home.'  And  then, 
fearing  she  had  grieved  me,  she  added,  '  Not  that  I  am 
neglected.  Thou  knowest  I  could  never  feel  that.  But 
oh,  can  it  be  possible  that  God  would  take  me  back,  not 
after  long  years  of  penance,  but  now,  and  here,  to  his  very 
heart  ?' 

"  I  could  say  little  to  teach  her,  but  from  that  time  this 
book  was  her  constant  companion.  She  begged  m.e  to  find 
out  all  the  passages  in  my  Latin  Gospels  which  speak  of 
Jesus  suffering  for  sinners,  and  of  God  as  the  Father.  I 
was  amazed  to  see  how  many  there  were.  The  book 
seemed  full  of  them.  And  so  we  went  on  for  some  days, 
until  one  evening  she  came  to  me,  and  said,  '  Ruprecht,  if 
God  is  indeed  so  infinitely  kind  and  good,  and  has  so  loved 
us,  we  must  obey  him,  must  we  not  ?  I  could  not  for  the 
world  say  No,  and  I  had  not  courage  to  say  Yes,  for  I 
knew  what  she  meant." 

Again  he  paused. 

"I  kncAV  too  well  what  she  meant,  when,  on  the  next 
morning,  I  found  the  breakfast  laid,  and  everything  swe[)t 
and  jvrepared  as  usual,  and  on  the  table,  in  printed  letters 
en  a  scrap  of  paper,  which  she  must  have  copied  from  tlie 
book,  for  she  could  not  write,  '  Farewell.  We  shall  be 
able  to  pray  for  each  other  now.  And  God  will  be  with 
u?,  and  Avill  give  us  to  meet  hereafter,  without  fear  of 
grieving  him,  in  our  Father's  hcuse.'" 

"  Do  you  kn.:>w  where  she  is  ?  '  i   ^tced. 


J58 


TEE  SCHONDERO-COTTA  FAMILT. 


"Slu  lias  taken  service  in  a  farm-house  several  inilfef 
away  in  the  forest,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  seen  her  once, 
She  looked  very  thin  and  worn.     But  she  did  not  see  me." 

The  thought  which  had  so  often  suggested  itself  to  me 
before,  carae  with  irresistible  force  into  my  mind  then, — 
"  If  those  vows  of  celibacy  are  contrary  to  the  will  of  God, 
3an  they  be  bin  ling  ?"  But  I  did  not  venture  to  suggest 
them  to  my  host.  I  only  said,  "  Let  us  pray  that  God  wil; 
lead  you  both.  The  heart  can  bear  many  a  heavy  burden 
if  tlie  conscience  is  free." 

"  True,"  he  said.  Aud  together  we  knelt  down,  whilst  ] 
spoke  to  God.  And  the  burden  of  our  prayer  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  this,  "  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven, 
HOt  my  ^^dll,  but  thine  be  done." 

On  the  morrow  I  bade  him  farewell,  leaving  him  several 
other  works  of  Luther's.  And  I  determined  not  to  lose 
an  hour  in  seeking  Melancthon  and  the  doctors  at  Witten- 
berg, and  placing  tnis  case  before  them. 

And  now,  perhaps,  I  shall  never  see  Wittenberg  again ! 

It  is  not  often  that  I  have  ventured  into  the  monasteries, 
but  to-day  a  young  monk,  who  was  walking  in  the  meadows 
of  this  abbey,  seemed  so  interested  in  my  books,  that  I 
followed  him  to  the  convent,  where  he  thought  I  should 
dispose  of  many  copies.  Instead  of  this,  however,  whilst 
I  Avas  waiting  in  the  porch  for  him  to  return,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  angry  Aoices  in  discussion  inside,  and  before  I 
could  perceive  what  it  meant,  three  or  four  monks  came  to 
me,  seized  my  pack,  bound  my  hands,  and  dragged  me  to 
the  convent  prison,  where  I  now  am. 

"  It  is  time  that  this  pestilence  should  be  checked,"  said 
one  of  them.  "  Be  thankful  if  your  fate  is  not  the  same 
as  that  of  your  poisonous  books,  which  are  this  evening  to 
make  a  bonfire  in  the  court." 

And  with  these  words  I  was  left  alone  in  this  low,  damp, 
dark  cell,  with  its  one  little  slit  liigh  in  the  wall,  which  just 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


359 


admits  light  enough  to  show  the  iron  fetters  hanging  from 
the  walls.  But  what  power  can  make  me  a  captive  whila 
I  can  sing — 

Mortis  portis  fractin,  fortis 

Fortior  vim  sustulit ; 
Et  per  crucem  regem  trucem, 

Icfeniorum  perculit. 

Lumen  claruir  tenebrarum 

Sedibus  resiilenduit ; 
Dum  salvare,  recreare 

Quod  creavit,  voluit. 

Hinc  Creator,  ne  peccator, 

Moreretur,  moritur ; 
Cujus  morte,  nova  sorte, 

Vita  nobis  oritur.* 

Are  not  countless  hearts  now  sinccino;  this  re  urrectiot 
hymn,  to  some  of  whom  my  hands  brought  the  joyful  tid 
ings?  In  the  lonely  parsonage,  in  the  forest  and  farm, 
hearts  set  free  by  1<  ve  from  the  fetters  of  sin — in  "illage 
and  city,  in  mountaii  i  and  plain ! 

And  at  Wittenberg,  in  happy  homes,  and  in  the  convent, 
are  not  my  beloved  singing  it  too  ? 

September. 

YET  the  time  seems  long  to  lie  in  inaction  here.    With 
these  tidings,  "The  Lord  is  risen,"  echoing  through 
her  1  eart,  would  it  not  have  been  hard  for  the  Magdalene 

*  Lo,  the  gates  of  death  are  broken, 

And  the  strong  man  armea  is  spoiled 

Of  his  armour,  which  he  trusted — 
By  the  slronger  Arm  dt-spoiled. 

Vanquished  is  the  Prince  of  Hell ; 
Smitten  by  the  cross,  he  fell. 

That  the  sinner  might  not  perish, 

For  him  the  Creator  dies; 
By  whose  dcalli,  our  dark  lot  changing, 

Life  ugaiu  for  us  doth  rise. 


360  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY 

to  be  arrested  on  her  way  to  the  bereaved  disciples  before 
she  could  tell  it  ? 

Oatober. 

in  AYE  a  hope  of  escape.  In  a  corner  of  uiy  prison  I 
discovered,  some  days  since,  the  top  of  an  arch,  which 
1  believe  must  belong  to  a  blocked-up  door.  By  slow  de» 
grees — working  by  night,  and  covering  over  my  work  by 
day — I  have  dug  out  a  flight  of  steps  which  led  to  it.  This 
morning  I  succeeded  in  dislodging  one  of  the  stones  with 
which  the  door- way  had  been  roughly  filled  up,  and  through 
the  space  surveyed  the  ground  outside.  It  was  a  portion 
of  a  meadow,  sloping  to  the  stream  which  turned  the 
abbey  mills.  This  morning  two  of  the  monks  came  to 
summon  me  to  an  examination  before  the  Prior,  as  to  my 
heresies ;  but  to-night  I  hope  to  dislodge  the  few  more 
stones,  and  this  very  night,  before  morning  dawn,  to  be 
treading  with  free  steps  the  forest-covered  hills  beyond  the 
valley. 

My  limbs  feel  feeble  with  insufficient  food,  and  the 
damp,  close  air  of  the  cell ;  and  the  blood  flows  with  fever- 
ish, uncertain  rapidity  through  my  vems ;  but,  doubtleus, 
a  few  hours  on  the  fresh,  breezy  hills  will  set  all  this  right. 

And  yet  once  more  I  shall  see  my  mothei-,  and  Else,  and 
Thekla,  and  little  Gretcheu,  and  all, — all  but  one,  who,  I 
fear,  is  still  imprisoned  in  convent  Avails.  Yet  once  more 
I  trust  to  go  throughout  the  land  spreading  the  joyful 
tidings, — "  The  Lord  is  risen  indeed ;"  the  Avork  of  re- 
demption is  accomplished,  and  he  who  once  lived  and  sufr 
fered  on  earth,  compassionate  to  heal,  now  ?ive8  and  ijigns 
in  hea\  en,  mighty  to  save. 


TEEKLA'S  SrORT.  ^b\ 


THEKLA'S   STORY 

TuNNENBERG,  May^  1521. 

Is  the  -world  reaEy  the  game  ?  Was  there  really  ever  a 
spring  like  this,  when  the  tide  of  life  seems  ovorflow- 
nig  and  budding  up  in  leaf-buds,  flowers,  and  songs,  and 
streams  ? 

It  cannot  be  only  that  God  has  given  me  the  great 
blessing  of  Bertrand  de  Crequi's  love,  and  that  life  opens 
in  such  bright  fields  of  hope  and  work  before  us  two ;  or 
that  this  is  the  first  spring  I  ever  spent  in  the  country.  It 
seems  to  me  that  God  is  really  pouring  a  tide  of  fresh  life 
throughout  the  world. 

Fritz  has  escaped  from  the  prison  at  Maintz,  and  he 
Mrites  as  if  he  felt  this  an  Easter-tide  for  all  men.  In  all 
places,  he  says,  the  hearts  of  men  are  oj^ening  to  the  glad 
tidings  of  the  redeeming  love  of  God. 

Can  it  be,  however,  that  every  JNIay  is  such  a  festival 
among  the  woods,  and  that  this  solemn  old  forest  holds 
such  fairy  holiday  every  year,  garlanding  its  bare  branches 
and  strewing  every  brown  nook  which  a  sunbeam  can 
reach,  Avith  showers  of  flowers,  such  as  we  strew  on  a 
bride's  path  ?  And  then,  who  could  have  imagined  that 
those  grave  old  firs  and  stately  birches  could  become  the 
cradles  of  all  these  delicate-tufted  blossoms  and  tenderly- 
folded  leaflets,  bursting  on  all  sides  from  their  gummy 
casings  ?  And — joy  of  all  joys ! — it  is  not  unconscious 
vegetable  life  only  which  th'is  expands  around  us.  It  is 
God  touching  every  branch  and  hidden  root,  and  waking 
them  to  beauty.  It  is  not  sunshine  merely,  and  soft 
breezes ;  it  is  our  Father  smiling  on  his  works,  and  making 
the  world  fresh  and  fair  for  his  children, — it  is  the  liealing 
U-Mich  and  tlie  gracious  Voice  Ave  have  learned  to  know. 
**■  We  are  in  the  woild,  and  the  world  was  made  by  1'hee ;' 
IG 


{62  THE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

and  "T'e  Dcum  laudamvs :  we  acknowledge  thee  0  Saviouf, 
lo  be  tlie  Lord." 

Our  Cbrieniiiild  certainly  has  a  beautiful  home.  Ber 
t-and's  home,  also,  is  a  castle  in  the  country,  in  Flanders, 
['ut  ho  says  their  country  is  not  like  this  forest-land.  It 
:ias  long  been  cleared  by  industrious  hands.  There  are 
long,  stately  avenues  leading  to  his  father's  chateau ;  but 
all  around,  the  land  is  level  and  waving  with  grass  and 
green  or  golden  corn-fields.  That,  also,  must  be  beautiful. 
But  probably  the  home  he  has  gone  to  prepare  for  me  may 
not  be  there.  Some  of  his  fimily  are  very  bitter  against  wl?at 
tliey  c;all  his  Lutheran  heresy,  and  although  he  is  the  heir, 
it  is  very  possible  that  the  branch  of  the  family  which  ad- 
heres to  the  old  religion  may  wrest  the  inheritance  from 
him.  That,  we  think,  matters  little.  God  will  find  tiie 
riglit  place  for  us,  and  lead  us  to  it,  if  we  ask  him.  And 
if  it  be  in  the  town,  after  all,  the  tide  of  life  in  Imman 
hearts  is  nobler  than  that  in  trees  and  flowers.  In  a  few 
months  we  shall  kno^.  Perhaps  he  may  return  here,  and 
become  a  professor  at  "Wittenberg,  whither  Dr.  Luther's 
'^ame  l)rought  him  a  year  since  to  study. 

June,  1521. 

A  RUMOUR  has  reached  us,  that  Dr.  Luther  has  dis- 
appeared  ol  liis  way  back  from  Worms. 

Tliis  spring  in  the  world  as  well  as  in  the  forest,  will 
doubtless  have  its  storms.  Last  night,  the  thunder  echoed 
from  hill  to  hill,  and  the  wind  wailed  AvUdly  among  the 
pines.  Looking  out  of  my  narrow  window  in  the  tower 
on  the  edge  of  the  rock,  where  I  sleep,  it  was  awful  to  see 
the  foaming  torrent  below  gleaming  in  the  lightning- 
8ashes,  which  opened  at  sudden  gUmpses  into  the  depths 
of  the  forest,  leaving  it  doubly  mysterious. 

I  thought  of  Fritz's  lonely  night,  when  he  lost  himself 
tr  the  forest  •.  and  tkauked  God  that  I  had  learned  to  kuo\» 


THEKLA'S  8T0R7.  363 

the  tlninder  as  his  voice,  and  his  voice  as  speaking  peac« 
and  pardon.  Only,  at  such  times  I  should  like  to  gather 
all  deal'  to  me  around  me ;  and  those  dearest  to  me  are 
scattered  far  and  wide. 

The  old  knight  Ulrich  is  rather  impetuous  and  hot-tem- 
pered ;  and  his  sister,  Ulrich's  aunt.  Dame  Hermentrud 
is  grave  and  stately.  Fortunately,  they  both  look  on 
Chriemhild  as  a  wonder  ol  beauty  and  goodness ;  but  I 
have  to  be  rather  careful.  Dame  Hermentrud  is  apt  to  at- 
tribute any  over-vehemence  of  mine  in  debate  to  the 
burgher  Cotta  blood  ;  and  although  they  both  listen  with 
interest  to  Ulrich  or  Chriemhild's  version  of  Dr.  Luther's 
doctrines.  Dame  Hermentrud  frequently  warns  me  agr^inst 
unfeminine  exaggeration  or  eagerness  in  these  matters, 
and  reminds  me  that  the  ancestors  of  the  Gersdorf  family 
were  devout  and  excellent  people  long  before  a  son  was 
born  to  Hans  Luther  the  miner. 

The  state  of  the  peasants  distresses  Chriemhild  and  me 
extremely.  She  and  Ulrich  were  full  of  plans  for  their 
good  Avhen  they  came  here  to  live  ;  but  she  is  at  present 
almost  exclusively  occu2)ied  with  the  education  of  a  little 
knightly  creature,  who  came  into  the  world  two  months 
since,  and  is  believed  to  concentrate  in  his  single  little  per- 
son all  the  ancestral  virtues  of  all  the  Gersdorfs,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Schonbergs.  He  has  not.  Dame  Hermen- 
trud asserts,  the  slightest  feature  of  resemblance  to  thfc 
Cottas.  I  cannot,  certainly,  deny  that  he  bears  unmistak- 
able traces  of  that  aristocratic  temper  and  that  lofty  taste 
for  ruling  Avhich  at  times  distinguished  my  grandmother, 
and,  doubtless,  all  the  Gersdorfs  from  the  days  of  Adam 
downward,  or  at  least  from  the  time  of  Babel,  Beyonn 
tha%  I  believe,  few  pedigrees  are  traced,  except  in  a  gen- 
oral  way  I0  the  sons  of  Noah.  But  it  is  a  great  honoui 
for  me  to  be  connected^  even  in  the  humblest  manner,  with 
such  a  distinguished  little  being      In  time,  I  am  not  with- 


364  riZ:^  SCEONBERO-  OOTTA  FAMILY. 

out  he  pes  that  it  will  introduce  a  little  reflex  nobility  even 
into  my  burgl'er  nature;  and  meantime  Chriemhild  and  1 
secretly  trace  remarkable  resemblances  in  her  dear  baby 
features  to  our  grandmother,  and  even  to  our  beloved, 
sanguine,  blind  father.  It  is  certainly  a  great  consolation 
that  our  father  chose  our  names  from  the  poems  and  the 
stars  and  the  calendar  of  aristocratic  saints,  instead  of  from 
the  lowly  Cotta  pedigree. 

Ulrich  has  not  indeed  by  any  means  abandoned  his 
Bcheme  of  usefulness  among  the  peasantry  Avho  live  on  his 
uncle's  estates.  But  he  finds  more  opposition  than  he  ex 
pected.  The  old  knight,  although  ready  enough  to  listen 
to  any  denunciations  of  the  self-indulgent  priests  and  lazy 
monks  (especially  those  of  the  abbey  whose  hunting-grounds 
adjoin  his  o\vn),  is  very  averse  to  making  the  smallest 
change  in  anything.  He  says  the  boors  are  difficult  enough 
to  keep  in  order  as  it  is  ;  that  if  they  are  taught  to  think 
for  themselves,  there  will  be  no  safety  for  the  game,  or  for 
anything  else.  They  will  be  quoting  the  Bible  in  all  khids 
of  wrong  senses  against  their  rightful  lords,  and  will  per- 
haps even  take  to  debating  the  justice  of  the  hereditary 
feuds,  and  refuse  to  follow  their  knight's  banner  to  the 
field. 

As  to  religion,  he  is  quite  sure  that  the  Ave  and  the 
Pater  are  as  much  as  will  be  expected  of  them ;  whilst 
Dame  Hei-mentrud  has  most  serious  doubts  of  this  new 
Dlan  of  writing  books  and  reading  prayers  in  the  language 
of  the  common  people.  They  will  be  thinking  themselves 
as  wise  as  the  priests,  and  perhaps  wiser  than  their  na!^- 
ters. 

But  Ulrich's  chief  disappointment  is  with  the  peasants 
themselves.  They  seem  as  little  anxious  for  improvemenu 
as  the  lor-ls  are  for  them,  and  are  certainly  suspicious  U)  a 
most  irritating  degree  of  any  schemes  for  their  welfare  is- 
suing from  the  castle.    As  tc  their  children  being  taught 


THEKLA'S  STORY.  365 

cc  read,  they  consider  it  an  invasion  of  their  lights,  and 
murmur  that  if  they  follow  the  nobles  in  hunt  and  foray, 
and  till  their  fields,  and  go  to  mass  on  Sunday,  the  rest  of 
their  ti  me  is  their  own,  and  it  is  an  usurpation  in  priest  01 
knight  to  demand  more. 

It  will,  I  fear,  'oe  long  before  the  dry,  barren  crust  of 
their  dull  Lard  life  is  broken ;  and  yet  the  words  of  life 
are  for  them  as  much  as  for  us  !  And  one  great  difficulty 
seems  to  me,  that  if  they  were  taught  to  read,  there  are  so 
few  German  religious  books.  Except  a  few  tracts  of  Dr. 
Luther's,  what  is  there  that  they  could  understand  ?  If 
some  one  would  only  translate  the  record  of  the  words  and 
acts  of  our  Lord  and  his  apostles,  it  would  be  worth  Avhile 
then  teaching  every  one  to  read. 

And  if  we  could  only  get  them  to  confide  in  us  !  There 
must  be  thought,  and  we  know  there, is  affection  under- 
neath all  this  reserve.  It  is  a  heavy  heritage  for  the  long 
ancestry  of  the  Gersdorfs  to  have  bequeathed  to  this  gen- 
eration,  these  recollections  of  tyranny  and  wrong,  and  this 
mutual  distrust.  Yet  Uliich  says  it  is  too  common  thyough- 
out  the  land.  Many  of  the  old  privileges  of  the  nobles 
were  so  terribly  oppressive  in  hard  or  careless  hands. 

The  most  promising  field  at  present  seems  to  be  among 
the  household  retainers.     Among  these  there  is  strc.jg  per- 
sonal attachment;  and  the  memory  of  Ulrich's  pious  mo- 
ther seems  to  have  left  behind  it  that  faith  in  goodnee 
which  is  one  of  tlie  most  precious  legacies  of  holy  lives. 

Even  the  peasants  in  the  village  speak  lovingly  of  her ; 
of  the  medicines  she  used  to  distil  from  the  forest-herbs, 
and  distribute  with  her  oAvn  hands  to  the  sick.  There  is 
a  tradition  also  in  the  castle  of  a  bright  maiden  called 
Beatrice  who  used  to  visit  the  cottage  homes,  and  bring 
sunshine  whenever  she  came.  But  she  disappeared  years 
ago,  they  say ;  and  the  old  family  nurse  shakes  hen  head 
as  she  tells  me  how  the  Lady  Beatrice's  hea)  t  was  broken. 


■^  'ib  THE  SCHdNBERG  COTTA  FAMILY 

y\  ^en  she  was  S(}parated  by  family  fends  from  her  betrothed, 
ai.d  after  that  she  went  to  the  convent  at  Nimptschen,  and 
has  been  dead  to  the  world  ever  since. 

Ximptschen !  that  is  the  living  grave  where  our  precious 
Eva  is  buried.  And  yet  where  she  is  I  am  sure  it  can  bo 
no  grave  of  death.  She  will  bring  life  and  blessings  with 
her.  I  will  write  her,  especially  about  this  poor  blighted 
Beatiice. 

Alwgether  the  peasants  seem  much  less  susj)icious  of 
the  "Women  of  the  Gerdsdorf  family  than  of  the  men.  They 
will  Oi'ten  listen  attentively  even  to  me.  And  when 
Chriemhhd  can  go  among  them  a  little  more,  I  hoi^e  better 
days  will  dawn. 

August,  1521. 

THIS  liiorning  we  had  a  strange  encounter.  Some 
days  aince  we  received  a  mysterious  intimation  from 
W^ittenberg,  that  Dr.  Luther  is  alive  and  in  friendly  keep- 
ing, not  far  from  us.  To-day  Ulricli  and  I  were  riding 
througli  the  forest  to  visit  an  outlying  farm  of  the  Gers- 
dorfs  in  the  direction  of  Eisenach,  ;ehen  we  heard  across  a 
valley  the  huntsman's  horn,  with  the  cry  of  the  dogs  in 
full  chase.  In  a  few  moments  an  opening  among  the  trees 
brought  us  in  siglit  of  the  hunt  sweeping  towards  us  up 
the  opposite  slopes  of  the  valley.  Apart  from  the  hunt, 
and  nearer  us  at  a  narrow  part  of  the  valley,  we  observed 
a  figure  in  the  cap  and  plumes  of  a  knight,  apparently 
watcliing  the  chase  as  we  were.  As  we  were  looking  at 
him,  a  poor  bewildered  leveret  fled  towards  him,  and 
cowered  close  to  his  feet.  He  stooped,  and  gently  taking 
it  up,  folded  it  in  the  long  sleeve  of  his  tunic,  and  stepped 
quickly  aside.  In  another  minute,  however,  the  hunt 
ewcpt  up  towards  him,  and  the  dogs  scenting  the  leveret, 
seized  on  it  in  its  refuge,  dragged  it  down,  and  kuled  it. 
This  umjsua^  little  incident,  this  human  being  putting 


TEEKLA'S  STORY.  507 

himself  on  tlie  side  of  the  pursued,  instead  of  araoi.g  tha 
fiursiiei's,  excited  our  attention.  There  was  also  some 
tiling  in  the  firm  figure  and  sturdy  gait  that  perplexingly 
reminded  us  of  some  one  we  knew.  Our  road  lay  across 
the  valley,  and  Ulrich  rode  aside  to  greet  the  strange 
inight.     In  a  moment  he  returned  to  me,  and  whispered, — 

"  It  is  Martin  Luther  !" 

We  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  look  once  more  on 
the  kind  honest  face,  and  riding  close  to  him  we  bowed  to 
him. 

He  gave  us  a  smile  of  recognition,  and  laying  his  hand 
on  Ulrich's  saddle  said,  softly,  "  The  chase  is  a  mystery  ol 
higher  things.  See  how,  as  these  ferocious  dogs  seized  my 
poor  leveret  from  its  refuge,  Satan  rages  against  so\ils,  and 
seeks  to  tear  from  their  hiding-place  even  those  already 
saved.  But  the  arm  which  holds  them  is  stronger  than 
mine.  I  have  had  enough  of  this  kind  of  chase,"  he  added; 
"  sweeter  to  me  the  cliase  of  tlie  bears,  wolves,  boars,  and 
foxes  which  lay  waste  the  Church,  than  of  these  harmless 
creatures.  And  of  such  rapacious  beasts  there  are  enough 
in  the  world." 

My  heart  Avas  full  of  the  poor  peasants  I  had  been  seeing 
lately.  I  never  could  feel  afraid  of  Dr.  Luther,  and  this 
opportunity  was  too  precious  to  be  thrown  away.  It  al- 
ways seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  open 
one's  heart  to  him.  lie  understood  so  quickly  and  so 
fully.  As  he  Avas  Avishing  us  good-bye,  therefore,  I  said 
(I  am  afraid,  in  that  abrupt,  blundering  Avay  of  mine), — 

"  Dear  Dr.  Luther,  the  poor  peasants  here  are  so  ignor- 
ant !  and  I  have  scarcely  anything  to  read  to  them  "which 
they  can  understand.  Tell  some  one,  I  entreat  you,  to 
translate  the  Gospels  into  German  for  them ;  such  German 
as  your  'Discourse  on  the  ISIagnificat,'  or  '  Tlio  Lord's 
Prayer,'  for  they  all  understand  that." 

He  smiled,  and  said,  kindly, — 


568  TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

"It  IS  being  done,  my  child.  I  am  trying  in  my  Pat 
mos  tower  once  more  to  unveil  the  Revelation  to  tlie  coni' 
mon  peoi:)le ;  and,  doubtless,  they  will  hear  it  gladly. 
That  book  alone  is  the  sun  from  which  all  true  teachers 
draw  their  light.  Would  that  it  were  in  the  language  of 
every  man,  held  in  every  hand,  read  by  every  eye,  listened 
to  by  every  ear,  treasured  up  m  every  heart.  And  it  Avill 
be  yet,  I  trust." 

He  began  to  move  away,  but  as  we  looked  reverently 
after  him  he  turned  to  us  again,  and  said,  "  Remember  the 
wilderness  was  the  scene  of  the  temptation.  Pray  for  me, 
ihat  in  the  solitude  of  my  wilderness  I  may  be  delivered 
from  the  tempter."  And  wavuig  his  hand,  in  a  few  minutes 
he  was  out  of  sight. 

We  thought  it  would  be  an  intrusion  to  follow  him,  or 
to  inquire  where  he  was  concealed.  But  as  the  hunt 
passed  away,  Ulrich  recognised  one  of  the  huntsmen  as  a 
retainer  of  the  Elector  Frederic  at  his  castle  of  the  Wart- 
bui-g. 

And  now  when  every  night  and  morning  in  my  prayers 
I  add,  as  usual,  the  name  of  Dr.  Luther  to  those  of  my 
mother  and  fatlier  and  all  dear  to  me,  I  think  of  him  pass- 
ing long  days  and  nights  alone  in  that  grim  castle,  looking 
down  on  the  dear  old  Eisenach  valley,  and  I  say,  "  Lord 
make  the  wilderness  to  him  the  school  for  his  ministry  to 
all  our  land." 

For  was  not  oiir  Saviour  himself  led  first  into  the  wil- 
derness, to  overcome  the  tempter  in  soUtude,  before  he 
came  forth  to  teach,  and  heal   and  cast  out  devils  ? 

October. 

ULRICH  has  seen  Dr.  Luther  again.  He  was  walk- 
ing in  the  forest  near  the  Warffeurg,  and  looked 
very  ill  and  s,ad.  His  heart  was  heavy  on  account  of  tne 
disorders  in  the  Chuj-ch,  the  falsehood  and  bitterness  of 


THEELA'8  8T0RT.  369 

the  enemies  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  inipetaosily  or  luke 
warmness  of  too  many  of  its  friends.  He  said  it  would 
almost  have  been  better  if  they  had  left  him  to  die  by  the 
hands  ol  his  enemies.  His  blood  might  have  cried  to  God 
for  deliverance.  He  was  ready  to  yield  himself  to  them  as 
an  ox  to  the  yoke.  He  would  i-ather  be  burned  on  live 
coals,  than  sleep  away  the  precious  years  thus,  half  alive, 
in  sloth  and  ease.  And  yet,  from  what  Ulrich  gathered 
further  from  him  of  his  daily  life,  his  "sloth  and  ease" 
would  seem  arduous  toil  to  most  men.  He  saw  the  room 
where  Dr.  Luther  lives  and  labors  day  and  night,  writing 
letters  of  consolation  to  his  friends,  and  masterly  replies, 
they  say,  to  the  assailants  of  the  truth,  and  (better  than 
all)  translating  the  Bible  from  Hebrew  and  Greek  intc 
German. 

The  room  has  a  large  window  commanding  many  reaches 
of  the  forest ;  and  he  showed  Ulrich  the  rookery  in  the 
tops  of  the  trees  below,  whence  he  learned  lessons  in  poli- 
tics from  the  grave  consultations  of  the  rooks  who  hold 
their  Diet  there ;  he  also  spoke  to  him  of  the  various  crea- 
tures in  rock  and  forest  which  soothed  his  solitude,  the 
birds  singing  among  the  branches,  the  berries,  wild  flowers, 
and  the  clouds  and  stars.  But  he  alluded  also  to  fearful 
conflicts,  visible  and  axidible  appearances  of  the  Evil  One 
and  his  healtli  seemed  n\uch  shattered. 

We  fear  that  noble  loving  heart  is  wearing  itself  out  in 
the  lonely  fortress.  He  seems  chafing  like  a  war-horse  al 
the  echo  of  the  distant  battle,  or  a  hunter  at  the  sound  of 
the  chase ;  or,  rather,  as  a  captive  general  who  sees  his 
troops,  assailed  by  force  and  sti-atagem,  broken  and  scattered 
and  cannot  break  his  chains  to  rally  and  to  lead  them  on. 

Yet  he  spoke  most  gratefully  of  his  hospitable  treatment 
ill  the  castle ;  said  he  was  living  like  a  prince  or  a  cardi- 
nal ;  and  deprecated  the  thought  that  the  good  cause  Avould 
not  prosper  without  his  presence. 


5TO 


TUE  SVnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


"  I  cannot  be  with  them  in  death,"  he  said,  "  nor  they 
tvith  me  !  Each  must  fight  that  last  fight,  go  tlirough  tliat 
passion  alone.  And  only  those  will  overcome  who  have 
learned  how  to  win  the  victory  before,  and  grounded  deep 
in  '^^he  heart  that  Avord,  which  is  the  great  power  against 
sin  and  the  devil,  that  Christ  has  died  for  each  one  of  us, 
and  has  overcome  Satan  for  ever." 

He  said  also  that  if  Melancthon  lived  it  mattered  little 
to  the  Church  what  happened  to  him.  The  Spirit  of  Elijah 
came  in  double  power  on  Elisha. 

And  he  gave  Ulrich  two  or  three  precious  fragments  of 
his  translation  of  the  Gospels,  for  me  to  read  to  the  peas- 
ants. 

Novemler. 

I  HAVE  gone  Avith  my  precious  bits  of  the  German 
Bible  that  is  to  be  into  many  a  cottage  during  this 
month, — simple  narratives  of  poor,  leprous,  and  palsied 
people,  who  came  to  the  Lord,  and  he  touched  them  and 
healed  their  diseases ;  and  of  sinners  whom  he  forgave. 

It  is  wonderful  how  the  simple  people  seem  to  drink 
them  in  ;  that  is,  those  who  care  at  all  for  such  things.  "  Is 
this  indeed  what  the  Lord  Christ  is  like?"  they  say ;  "then, 
surely,  we  may  speak  to  him  in  our  own  words,  and  ask 
Ast  what  we  want,  as  those  poor  men  and  women  did  oi 
-.^Jd.  Is  it  true,  indeed,  that  peasants,  women,  and  sick 
people  could  come  straight  to  the  Lord  himself?  Was  he 
/Ot  always  kept  off  from  the  common  people  by  a  band  of 
.•riests  and  saints  ?  Was  he  indeed  to  be  spoken  to  by  all, 
i^d  he  such  a  great  Lord?" 

I  said  that  I  thought  it  was  the  necessity  of  human 
;  fnces,  and  not  their  glory,  to  be  obliged  to  employ  depu- 
ties, and  not  let  each  one  plead  his  own  case.  They  look 
gjreatest  afar  oft",  surrounded  by  the  pomp  of  a  throne,  be- 
cause in  themselves  they  are  weak  and  sinful,  like  oth'if 


TEERLA'S  STORY  371 

men.  But  He  needed  no  pomp,  nor  the  dignity  of  dis 
tance,  because  he  is  not  like  other  men,  but  sinless  and  di. 
vine,  and  the  glory  is  in  himself,  not  in  the  things  around 
bim. 

Then  1  had  a  narrative  of  the  crucifixion  to  read ;  and 
many  a  tear  have  I  seen  stream  over  rough  cheeks,  and 
many  a  smile  beam  in  dim  aged  eyes  as  I  read  this. 

"  We  seem  to  understand  it  all  at  once,"  an  old  woman 
said;  "ard  yet  there  always  seems  something  more  in  it 
each  time." 

December. 

THIS  morning  I  had  a  letter  from  Bertrand, — the  first 
for  many  weeks.  He  is  full  of  hope ;  not,  indeed- 
of  recovering  his  inheritance,  but  of  being  at  Wittenberg 
again  in  a  few  weeks. 

I  suppose  my  face  looked  very  bright  when  I  received 
it  and  i-aii  with  the  precious  letter  to  my  own  room  ;  for 
Dame  Hermentrud  said  much  this  evening  about  receiving 
everything  with  moderation,  and  about  the  propriety  ol 
young  maidens  having  a  very  still  and  collected  demeanoi, 
and  about  the  uncertainty  of  all  things  below.  My  heaven- 
ly Father  knows  I  do  not  forget  that  all  things  ai-e  uncer- 
tain ;  although,  often,  I  dare  not  dwell  on  it.  But  he  has 
given  me  this  good  gift — he  himself — and  I  will  thank  him 
with  an  overflowing  heart  for  it? 

1  cannot  understand  Dame  Hermentrud's  religion.  She 
Heems  to  think  it  prudent,  and  a  duty,  to  take  everytliing 
God  gives  coolly,  as  if  we  did  not  care  very  much  about 
it,  lest  he  should  think  he  had  given  us  something  too  good 
for  us,  and  grudge  it  to  us,  and  take  it  away  again. 

No  ;  if  God  docs  take  away,  he  takes  -away  as  he  gave, 
in  infinite  love  ;  and  I  would  not  for  the  world  add  dark- 
ness to  the  dark  days,  if  they  must  come,  by  the  bitter  re- 
gret that  I  did  not  enjoy  the  snnshine  whilst  ho  gave  it. 


j7a  TEE  8CE6NBERG-C0T2A  FAMILY. 

For,  indeed,  I  cannot  help  fearing  sometimes,  when  I  thiuk 
of  the  martjTS  of  old,  and  the  bitterness  of  the  enemies  ol 
the  good  tidings  now.  But  then  I  try  to  look  up,  and  trv 
to  say,  '•  Safer,  O  Father,  in  thy  hands  than  in  mine."  A^xl 
ftll  the  comfort  of  the  prayer  depends  on  how  I  can  com 
prebend  and  foel  that  name,  "  Father !" 


XYII. 

EVA'S    STORY. 

Cistercian  Convent,  NrMPTscriEK, 
September^  1521. 
iHEY  have  sent  me  several  sheets  of  Dr.  I  uther'e 
translation  of  the  New  Testament,  from  Uncle 
Cotta's  press  at  Wittenberg.  Of  all  the  works 
he  ever  did  for  God,  this  seems  to  me  the 
migl'tiest  and  the  best.  None  has  ever  so  deeply  stirred 
onv  convent.  Many  of  the  sisters  positively  refuse  to  join 
in  any  invocation  of  the  saints.  They  declare  that  it  must 
be  Satan  himself  who  has  kept  this  glorious  book  locked 
up  in  a  dead  language  out  of  reach  of  women  and  children 
a!Kl  the  common  people.  And  the  young  nuns  say  it  is  so 
interesting,  it  is  not  in  the  least  like  a  book  of  sermons,  oi 
4  religious  treatise. 

"  It  is  like  everyday  life,"  said  one  of  them  to  me,  "  with 
what  every  one  wants  brought  into  it ;  a  perfect  Friend, 
po  infinitely  good,  so  near,  and  so  completely  understanding 
our  inmost  hearts.  Ah,  Sister  -Eva,"  she  added,  "if  they 
could  only  hear  of  this  at  home  !" 


October. 
T^  0-DAY  we  have  received  a  copy  of  Dr.  Luther'i 


r 


thesis  against  the  monastic  life. 
"There  is  but  one   only  spiritual   estate,"  ho   writo<s 

1878- 


374 


THE  bCHONBERG-COTTA   FAMILY. 


"  whicl.  IS  holy  and  makes  holy,  and  that  is  Christianityi 
■ — the  faith  which  is  the  common  right  of  all." 

"  Monastic  institutions,"  he  continues,  "  to  be  of  any  use 
Dught  to  be  schools,  in  which  children  may  be  brought  up 
until  they  are  adults.  But  as  it  is,  they  are  housois  in 
which  men  and  women  become  children  and  ever  continue 
childish." 

Too  well,  alas !  I  know  the  truth  of  these  last  words ; 
the  hopeless,  childish  occupation  with  trifles,  into  which 
the  majority  of  the  nuns  sink  when  the  freshness  of  youth 
and  the  bitter  conflict  of  separation  from  all  dear  to  the 
heart  has  subsided,  and  the  great  incidents  of  life  have  be- 
come the  decorating  the  church  for  a  festival,  or  the  pomp 
attending  the  visit  of  an  Inspector  or  Bishop. 

It  is  against  this  I  have  striven.  It  is  this  I  dread  for 
the  young  sisters ;  to  see  them  sink  into  contented  trifling 
with  religious  playthings.  And  I  have  been  able  to  see 
no  way  of  escape,  unless,  indeed,  wc  could  be  transferred 
to  some  city  and  devote  ourselves  to  the  care  of  the  sick 
and  poor. 

Dr.  Luther,  however,  admits  of  another  solution.  We 
hear  that  he  has  counselled  the  Prior  of  the  Monastery  at 
Erfurt  to  suffer  any  monks  who  wish  it  freely  to  depart. 
And  many,  we  have  been  told,  in  various  monasteries  have 
already  left,  and  returned  to  serve  God  in  the  world. 

Monks  can,  indeed,  do  this.  The  world  is  open  before 
them,  and  in  some  way  they  are  sure  to  find  occupation. 
But  with  us  it  is  different !  Torn  away  from  our  natural 
homes,  the  whole  world  aroimd  us  is  a  trackless  desert. 

Yet  how  can  I  dare  to  say  this  ?  Since  the  whole  world 
is  the  woi'k  of  our  heavenly  Father's  hands,  and  may  be 
the  way  to  our  Father's  house,  will  not  he  surely  find  a 
place  for  each  of  us  in  it,  and  a  i^ath  for  us  through  it  ? 


EVA  '5  STORY. 


37! 


November  10. 

NINE  of  llie  }Ounger  nuns  have  come  to  the  detenni 
nation,  if  possible,  to  give  up  the  conventual  life, 
with  its  round  of  superstitious  observances.  This  evening 
we  hold  a  consultation  in  Sister  Beatrice's  cell.  Aunt 
Agnes  joined  us. 

It  was  decided  that  each  should  write  to  her  relatives, 
simply  confessing  that  she  believed  the  monastic  vows  and 
life  to  be  contrary  to  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  praying  to 
he  received  back  into  her  family. 

Sister  Beatrice  and  Aunt  Agnes  decided  to  remain  pa- 
tiently where  they  Avere. 

"  My  old  home  would  be  no  more  a  home  to  me  now 
than  the  convent,"  sister  Beatrice  said.  "  There  is  liberty 
for  me  to  die  here,  and  an  open  way  for  my  spirit  to  returi. 
to  God." 

And  Aunt  Agnes  said, — 

"  Who  knows  but  that  there  may  be  some  lowly  work 
left  for  me  to  do  here  yet !  In  the  world  I  should  be  as 
helpless  as  a  child,  and  why  should  I  return  to  be  a  burden 
on  my  kindred  ?" 

They  both  urged  me  to  write  to  Else  or  Jiunt  Cotta  to 
receive  me.  But  I  can  scarcely  think  it  mj  duty.  Aunt 
Cotta  has  her  children  around  her.  Else's  home  is  strange 
to  me.  Besides,  kind  as  CA^ery  one  has  been  to  me,  I  am 
as  a  stray  waif  on  the  current  of  this  world,  and  have  no 
home  in  it.  I  think  God  has  enabled  me  to  cheer  and  help 
Bome  few  here,  and  while  Aunt  Agnes  and  Sister  Beatrice 
remain,  I  canmt  bear  the  thought  of  leaving.  At  all 
events  I  will  wait. 

November  22. 

FTIITZ  is  in  ])rison  again.     For  many  weeks  they  had 
heard  nothing  from  him,  and  Avore  Avondering  Avhere 
tie  Avas,  Avhei  a  letter  camo  from  a  priest  called  liuprocht 


J76  THE  SCnONBSmG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Plaller,  in  Franconia.  He  says  Fritz  came  to  his  ho  use 
one  evening  in  July,  remained  the  night,  left  next  morning 
with  his  pack  of  Lutheran  books,  intending  to  proceed 
direct  to  Wittenberg,  and  gave  him  the  address  of  Aunt 
Cotta  there.  But  a  fcAv  weeks  afterwards  a  young  monk 
net  him  near  the  Dominican  Convent,  and  asked  if  he 
were  the  priest  at  whose  house  a  pedlar  had  spent  a  night 
a  few  weeks  before.  The  priest  admitted  it ;  whereon  the 
young  monk  said  to  him,  in  a  low,  hurried  accent — 

"  Write  to  his  friends,  if  you  know  them,  and  say  he  i3 
in  the  prison  of  the  convent,  under  strong  suspicion  of 
heresy.  I  am  the  young  man  to  whom  he  gave  a  book  on 
the  evening  he  came.  Tell  them  T  did  not  intend  to  be- 
tray him,  although  I  led  him  into  the  net ;  and  if  ever  they 
should  procure  his  escape,  and  you  see  him  again,  tell  him 
I  have  kept  his  book."  The  good  priest  says  something 
also  about  Fritz  having  been  his  salvation.  And  he  ui-ges 
that  the  most  strenuous  exertions  should  be  made  to  lib- 
erate him,  and  any  powerful  friends  we  have  should  be 
entreated  to  intercede,  because  the  Prior  of  the  Dominican 
Convent  where  he  is  imprisoned  is  a  man  of  the  severest 
temper,  and  a  mighty  hater  of  heretics. 

Powerful  friends !  I  know  none  whom  we  can  entreat 
but  God. 

It  was  in  July,  then,  that  he  was  captured,  two  months 
since.  I  wonder  if  it  is  only  my  impatient  spirit !  but  I 
feel  as  if  I  must  go  to  Aimt  Cotta.  I  have  a  feeling  she 
will  want  me  now.  I  think  I  might  comfort  her  ;  for  who 
can  toll  what  two  months  in  a  Dominican  prison  may  have 
done  for  him  ? 

In  our  convent  have  we  not  a  prison,  low,  dark,  and 
damp  enough  to  weigh  the  life  out  of  any  one  in  six  weeks  ? 
From  one  of  the  massive  low  pillars  hang  heavy  iron  fet- 
ters, happily  rusted  now  from  disuse  ;  and  in  a  corner  are 
\  rack  and  other  terrible  nistruments,  now  thrown  aside 


EVA 'S  STORY. 


377 


there,  on  which  some  of  the  older  nuns  say  they  have  seen 
Btains  of  blood. 

When  he  was  in  prison  before  at  Mainz,  I  did  not  seem 
BO  despondj/ig  about  his  deliverance  as  I  feel  now. 

Are  the^e  fears  God's  merciful  preparations  for  some 
dreadful  tidings  about  to  reach  us?  or  are  they  '.ne  mere 
natural  oofeebling  of  the  power  to  hope  as  one  grows* 
oldor  ? 

Decemler^  1521. 

MAN  Y  disappointments  have  fallen  on  us  during  the 
last  fortnight.  Answer  after  answer  has  come  to 
those  touching  entreaties  of  the  nine  sisters  to  their  kin- 
dred, in  various  tones  of  feeling,  but  all  positively  refusing 
to  reccivo  them  back  to  their  homes. 

Some  r-f  the  relatives  use  the  bitterest  reproaches  and 
the  sov'.rest  menaces.  Others  write  tenderly  and  com. 
passionately,  but  all  agree  that  no  noble  family  can  possi- 
bly britg  on  itself  the  disgrace  of  aiding  a  professed  nun 
to  b:eak  her  vows.  Poor  children,  my  heart  aches  foi 
thesm,  some  of  them  are  so  young,  and  were  so  confident 
of  boing  welcomed  back  Avith  open  arms,  remembering  the 
tears  with  which  they  were  given  up. 

Now  indeed  they  are  thrown  on  God.  He  will  not  fail 
them  ;  but  who  can  say  through  what  thorny  paths  their 
feet  may  have  to  tread  ? 

It  has  also  been  discovered  here  that  some  of  them  have 
written  thus  to  their  relations,  which  renders  their  position 
far  more  difficult  and  painful. 

Many  of  the  older  nuns  are  most  indignant  at  what  they 
consider  an  act  of  the  basest  treachery  and  sacrilege.  I 
also  am  forbidden  to  have  any  more  intfci  course  with  the 
suspected  sisters.  Search  has  been  made  in  every  ce/1,  and 
ail  the  Lutheran  books  have  been  seized,  whilst  the  strict' 
^t  attendance  is  required  at  all  the  servicet 


378  THE  bLEONBERQ.COTTA  iAMlLY. 

February  10.  1523. 
QISTER    BEATRICE  is   dead,  after   a  brief  illness 
k3   The  gentle,  patient  spirit  is  at  rest. 

It  seems  difficult  to  think  of  joy  associated  with  that 
subdued  ai\d  timid  heart,  even  in  heaven,  I  can  only  think 
of  her  as  at  rest. 

One  night  after  she  died  I  had  a  dream,  in  which  1 
Beemed  to  see  her  entering  into  heaven.  Robed  and  veiled 
hi  white,  I  saw  her  slow^ly  ascending  the  way  to  the  gates 
of  the  City.  Her  head  and  her  eyes  Avere  cast  on  the 
groimd,  and  she  did  not  seem  to  dare  to  look  up  at  thg 
pearly  gates,  even  to  see  if  they  were  open  or  closed.  But 
two  angels,  the  gentlest  spirits  in  heaven,  came  out  and 
met  her,  and  each  taking  one  of  her  hands,  led  her  silently 
inside,  like  a  penitent  child.  And  as  she  entered,  the  harps 
and  songs  within  seemed  to  be  hushed  to  music  soft  as  the 
dreamy  murmur  of  a  summer  noon.  Still  she  did  not  look 
up,  but  passed  through  the  golden  streets  with  her  hands 
trustingly  folded  in  the  hands  of  the  angels,  until  she  stood 
before  the  throne.  Then  from  the  throne  came  a  Voice, 
which  said,  "  Beatrice,  it  is  I ;  be  not  afraid."  And  when 
she  heard  that  voice,  a  quiet  smile  beamed  over  her  face 
like  a  glory,  and  for  the  first  time  she  raised  her  eyes ;  and 
sinking  at  Ilis  feet,  murmured,  "  Home !"  And  it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  that  one  v/ord  from  the  low,  trembling  voice 
vibrated  through  every  harp  in  heaven ;  and  from  counts 
less  voices,  rhiging  as  happy  children's,  and  tender  as  a 
mother's,  came  back,  in  a  tide  of  love  and  music,  the  words, 
"  Welcome  home.'' 

This  w\as  only  a  dream ;  but  it  is  no  dream  that  she  ia 
there ! 

She  said  little  in  her  illness.  She  did  not  suffer  much. 
The  feeble  frame  made  little  resistance  to  the  low  fever 
which  attacked  her.  The  words  she  spoke  were  mostly 
expressions  of  thankfulness  for  little  services,  or  entreatiei 


EVA'S  STOUT. 


379 


for  foi'giv^eness  for  any  little  pain  she  fancied  slic  might 
have  given. 

Aunt  Agnes  and  I  chiefly  waited  on  her.  She  was  un* 
easy  if  we  were  long  away  from  her.  Her  thoughts  often 
recurred  to  her  girlhood  in  the  old  castle  in  the  Thuriu- 
gian  Forest ;  and  she  liked  to  hear  me  speak  of  Chriera- 
hild  and  Ulrich,  and  their  infant  boy.  One  evenmg  sho 
called  me  to  her,  and  said,  "Tell  my  sister  Hermentrud, 
ajid  my  brother,  1  am  sure  they  all  meant  kindly  in  send- 
ing me  here ;  and  it  has  been  a  good  place  for  me,  espe- 
cially since  you  came.  But  tell  Chriemhild  and  Ulrich," 
she  added,  "  if  they  have  daughters,  to  remember  plighted 
troth  is  a  sacred  thing,  and  let  it  not  be  lightly  severed. 
Not  that  the  sorrow  has  been  evil  for  me ;  only  I  would 
not  have  another  suffer.  All,  all  has  been  good  for  me, 
and  I  so  unworthy  of  all." 

Then  passing  her  thin  hands  over  my  head  as  I  knelt  be- 
side her,  she  said,  "  Eva,  you  have  been  like  a  mother,  a 
sister,  a  child, — everything  to  me.  Go  back  to  your  old 
home  when  I  am  gone.     I  like  to  think  you  will  be  there." 

Then,  as  if  fearing  she  might  have  been  ungrateful  to 
Aunt  Agnes,  she  asked  for  her,  and  said,  "I  can  never 
thank  you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  The  blessed  Lord 
will  remember  it ;  for  did  he  not  say,  '  In  that  ye  have 
done  it  unto  the  leasl.^  " 

And  in  the  night,  as  I  sat  by  her  alone,  she  said,  "  Eva, 
I  have  dreaded  very  much  to  die.  I  am  so  very  veak  iu 
spirit,  and  dread  everything.  But  I  think  God  must  make 
it  easier  for  the  feeble  such  as  me.  For  although  I  do  not 
feel  any  stronger,  I  am  not  afraid  now.  It  must  be  be- 
cause he  is  holding  me  up." 

She  then  asked  me  to  sing ;  and  with  a  faltering  voice  1 
sung,  as  well  as  I  could,  the  hymn,  Aatant  angelorun 
ch^ri : — 


j8c  THE  SCUONBERG  COTTA  FAMILY. 

High  the  angel  choirs  are  raising 

Heart  and  voice  in  harmony ; 
The  Creator  King  still  praising, 

Whom  in  beauty  there  they  see  I 
Sweetest  strains  from  soft  harps  stealing, 
Trumpets'  notes  of  triumph  pealing; 
Radiant  wings  and  white  robes  gleaming, 
Up  the  steps  of  glory  streaming, 
Where  the  heavenlj'  bells  are  ringing. 
Holy,  holy,  holy,  singing. 

To  the  mighty  Trinity  I 
For  all  earthly  care  and  sighing 

In  that  city  cease  to  be  I 

And  two  days  after,  in  the  grey  of  the  autumn  inonuLg_ 
she  died.  She  fell  asleep  with  the  name  of  Jesus  on  hei 
lips. 

It  is  strange  how  silent  and  empty  the  convent  seems, 
only  because  that  feeble  voice  is  hushed  and  that  poor 
shadowy  form  has  passed  away ! 

February^  1523. 

SISTER  Beatrice  has  been  laid  in  the  convent  church- 
yard with  solemn,  mournful  dirges  and  masses,  and 
stately  ceremonies,  which  seemed  to  me  little  in  harmony 
with  her  timid,  shrinking  nature,  or  the  peace  her  spirit 
rests  in  now. 

The  lowly  mound  in  the  church-yard,  marked  by  no  me. 
morial  but  a  wooden  cross,  accords  better  with  her  memory. 
The  wind  will  rustle  gently  there  next  summer,  through 
the  grass ;  and  this  winter  the  robin  will  Avarble  quietly  ia 
the  old  e/m  above. 

But  I  shall  never  see  the  grass  clothe  that  earthy  mound. 
It  is  decided  that  I  am  to  leave  the  convent  this  week. 
Aunt  Agnes  and  two  of  the  young  sisters  have  just  left 
my  cell,  and  all  is  planned. 

The  petty  persecutions  against  those  they  call  the  Lath- 


EVA'S  STOST.  38, 

©ran  Sisters  increase  continually,  whilst  severer  and  mor« 
0])en  proce(}dings  are  threatened.  It  is  therefore  decided 
fh.it  I  am  I0  make  my  escape  at  the  first  fav enable  oppor« 
tuiiily,  find  my  way  to  Wittenberg,  and  then  lay  the  case 
of  the  nine  imns  before  the  Lutheran  doctors,  and  endeavor 
to  provide  for  their  rescue. 

February  20,  1522. 

AT  last  the  peasant's  dress  in  which  I  am  to  escape  la 
in  my  cell,  and  this  very  night,  when  all  is  quiet,  I 
am  to  creep  out  of  the  wmdow  of  Katherine  von  Bora's 
cell,  into  the  convent  garden.  Aunt  Agnes  has  been  ner- 
vously eager  about  my  going,  and  has  been  busy  secretly 
storing  a  little  basket  with  provisions.  But  to-night,  when 
I  went  into  her  cell  to  wish  her  good-bye,  she  quite  broke 
down,  and  held  me  tight  in  her  arms,  as  if  she  could  never . 
let  rae  go,  while  her  lips  qxiivered,  and  tears  rolled  slowly 
over  her  thin,  furrowed  cheeks.  "  Eva,  child,"  she  said, 
"  who  first  taught  me  to  love  in  spite  of  myself,  and  then 
taught  me  that  God  is  love,  and  that  he  could  mak<*  me, 
believing  in  Jesus,  a  happy,  loving  child  again,  how  ^an  I 
part  with  thee  ?" 

"You  will  join  me  again,"  I  said,  "and  your  sister  who 
loves  you  so  dearly  ?" 

She  shook  her  bead  and  smiled  through  her  tears,  as  she 
eaid, — 

"Poor  helpless  old  woman  that  I  am,  Avhat  would  you 
do  with  me  in  the  busy  life  outside  f 

But  her  worst  fear  was  for  me,  in  my  journey  alone  to 
WittCTiberg,  which  seemed  to  her,  who  for  forty  years  lind 
icver  passed  the  convent  walls,  so  long  and  ]ieril(ni- 
Aunt  Agnes  always  thinks  of  me  as  a  young  girl,  and  im 
igines  every  one  must  think  me  beautiful,  because  lovt 
makes  me  so  to  her.  She  is  sure  they  will  take  mo  foi 
sorne  pi'incess  in  disguise. 


|g2  TEE  SCHC^rBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Slio  forgets  I  am  a  quiet,  sober-looking  woman  of  sovea 
and-twentr,  whom  no  one  will  wonder  to  see  gravely 
plodding  along  the  highway. 

But  I  almost  made  her  promise  to  come  to  us  at  Witten- 
berg ;  and  at  last  she  reproached  herself  with  distrusting 
God,  and  said  she  ought  never  to  have  feared  that  lus 
Rngels  would  watch  over  me. 

Once  more,  then,  the  world  opens  before  me ;  but  I  do 
not  hope  (and  why  should  I  wish  ?)  that  it  should  be  more 
to  me  than  this  convent  has  been — a  place  where  God  will 
be  with  me  and  give  me  some  little  loving  services  to  do 
for  him. 

But  my  heart  does  yearn  to  embrace  dear  Aunt  Cotta 
and  Else  once  more,  and  little  Thekla.  And  when  Thekla 
marries,  and  Aunt  and  Uncle  Cotta  are  left  alone,  I  think 
they  may  want  me,  and  Cousin  Eva  may  grow  old  among 
Else's  children,  and  all  the  grandchildren,  helping  one  and 
another  a  little,  and  missed  a  little  when  God  takes  me. 

But  chiefly  I  long  to  be  near  Aunt  Cotta,  now  that  Fritz 
is  in  that  terrible  prison.  She  always  said  I  comforted  her 
more  than  any  one,  and  I  think  I  may  again. 


ELSE'S    STORY. 

October,  1531. 

CHRISTOPHER  has  just  returned  from  a  journey  to 
Halle.  They  have  dared  once  more  to  establish  the 
Bale  of  indulgences  there,  under  the  patronage  of  the 
young  and  self-indulgent  Archbishop  Albert  of  Mainz. 
Many  of  the  students  and  the  more  thoughtful  burghers 
are  full  of  mdignation  at  seeing  the  great  red  cross  OHce 
more  set  up,  and  the  heavenly  pardons  hawked  throiigh 
the  streets  for  sale.  This  would  not  have  been  attempted, 
Gottfried  feels  sure,  had  not  the  enemy  believed  thai  Dr. 


ELSE'S  STOUT.  383 

1.  ather's  roice  is  silenced  for  ever.  Letters  from  him  are, 
however,  privately  handed  about  among  us  here,  and  more 
tlian  one  of  us  know  that  he  is  in  safe  keeping  not  very  faJ* 
from  us. 

T^~>«  OTTFRIED  has  just  brought  me  the  letter  from 
KjX  Luther  to  the  Archbisliop  of  Mainz ;  which  will  ac 
least  convince  the  indulgence-mongers  that  tliey  have 
roused  the  sleeping  lion. 

He  reminds  the  Archbishop-Elector  that  a  conflagration 
has  already  been  raised  by  the  protest  of  one  poor  insigni- 
ficant monk  against  Tetzel ;  he  warns  him  that  the  God 
who  gave  strength  to  that  feeble  human  voice  because  it 
spoke  his  truth,  "  is  living  still,  and  will  bring  down  the 
lofty  cedars  and  the  haughty  Pharaohs,  and  can  easily 
h.umble  an  Elector  of  Mainz  although  there  wQi-e  four  Em- 
perors STipporting  him."  He  solemnly  requires  him  to  put 
down  that  avaricious  sale  of  lying  pardons  at  Mainz,  or  he 
will  speedily  publish  a  denunciation  (which  he  has  already 
written)  against  "The  New  School  at  Halle."  "For 
Luther,"  he  says  "  is  not  dead  yet." 

We  are  in  great  doubt  how  the  Archbishop  will  beai 
8uch  a  bold  remonstrance. 

November  20. 

THE  remonstrance  has  done  its  work.  The  Prince 
Archbisliop  has  written  a  humble  and  apologetic 
letter  to  Dr.  Luther,  and  the  indulgences  are  once  more 
banished  fi  om  Halle. 

At  Wittenberg,  however.  Dr.  Luther's  letters  do  not  ai 
all  compensate  for  his  presence.  There  is  great  confusion 
here,  and  not  seldom  there  are  encounters  between  the  op 
[)Osite  parties  in  the  streets. 

Almost  all  the  monks  in  the  Augustinian  Convent  ro- 
fused  some  weeks  since  to  celebrate  private  masses  or  to 


384  THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY, 

adore  the  host.     The  gentle  Dr.  Melancthon  and  the  ot  > 
doctors  at  first  remonstrated,  but  were  at  length  thv? 
Belves  convinced,  and  appealed  to  the  Elector  of  Saxor  / 
himself  to  abolish  these  idolatrous  ceremonies.     We  do 
not  yet  know  how  he  will  act.     No  public  alterations  have 
yet  been  made  in  the  Church  services. 

But  the  great  event  which  is  agitating  Wittenberg  now 
is  the  abandonment  of  the  cloister  and  the  monastic  life  l:»y 
thirteen  of  the  Augustinian  monks.  The  Pastor  Feldkir- 
chen  declared  against  priestly  vows,  and  marrisd  some 
months  since.  But  he  was  only  a  secular  priest;  and  the 
opinions  of  all  good  men  about  the  marriage  of  the  priests 
of  the  various  churches  have  lono-  been  undivided  amonrrst 
us. 

Concerning  the  monks,  however,  it  is  different.  For 
the  priests  to  marry  is  merely  a  change  of  state;  for  the 
monks  to  abandon  their  vows  is  the  destruction  of  their 
order,  and  of  the  monastic  life  altogethdr. 

Gottfried  and  I  are  fully  persuaded  they  are  right ;  and 
we  honor  greatly  these  men,  who,  disclaiming  maintenance 
at  other  people's  expense,  are  content  to  place  themselves 
among  the  students  at  the  university.  More  esj)ecially, 
however,  I  honor  the  older  or  less  educated  bi'ethren,  who, 
relinquishing  the  consideration  and  idle  plenty  of  the 
cloister,  set  themselves  to  learn  some  humble  trade.  One 
of  these  has  apprenticed  himself  to  a  carpenter ;  and  as  we 
passed  his  bench  the  other  day,  and  watched  him  pers.> 
veruigly  trying  to  train  his  unaccustomed  fingers  to  handle 
the  tools,  Gottfried  took  ofJ'his  cap  and  respectfully  saluted 
him,  saymg — 

"  Yes,  that  is  right.  Christianity  must  begin  again  with 
the  carpenter's  home  at  Nazareth." 

In  our  family,  however,  opinions  are  divided.  Our  dear^ 
anxious  mother  perplexes  herself  much  as  to  what  it  will 
all  lead  to.     It  is  true  that  Fritz's  second  imprisonment 


ELSE'S  "iTOET.  38 ^ 

hfts  greati  J  shaken  her  faith  in  the  monks ;  but  she  b.  di» 
tressed  at  the  unsettUng  tendencies  of  the  age.  To  lier  11 
Keems  all  destructive  ;  and  the  only  solution  she  can  imagine 
for  the  difficulties  of  the  times  is,  that  these  must  he  *Jk 
totter  days,  and  that  when  everything  is  pulled  down,  our 
Lord,  himself  will  come  speedily  to  build  up  his  kingdom 
in  the  riglit  way. 

Deprived  of  the  counsel  of  Fritz  and  her  heloved  Eva, 
and  of  Dr.  Luther — in  whom  lately  she  had  grown  more  to 
confide,  although  she  always  deprecates  his  impetuosity  of 
language — she  cannot  make  up  her  mind  what  to  think 
about  anything.  She  has  an  especial  dread  of  the  vehe-. 
raence  of  the  Archdeacon  Carlstadt ;  and  the  mild  i\Ielanc- 
thon  is  too  much  like  herself  in  disposition  for  her  to  lean 
ou  his  judgment. 

Nevertheless,  this  morning,  when  I  went  to  see  them,  I 
found  lier  busily  preparing  some  nourishing  soup ;  which, 
when  I  asked  her,  she  confessed  Avas  destined  for  the  recu- 
sant monk  wlio  had  become  a  carpenter. 

"Poor  creatures,"  she  said  apologetically,  "they  Avcre 
accustomed  to  live  well  in  the  cloister,  and  T  should  not 
like  them  to  feel  the  difference  too  suddenly." 

Our  grandmother  is  more  than  eighty  now.  Her  form 
is  still  erect,  although  she  seldom  moves  from  her  arm- 
chair ;  and  her  faculties  seem  little  dinnned,  except  that 
felie  cannot  attend  to  anything  for  any  length  of  time. 
Scmetimes  I  think  old  age  to  her  is  more  like  the  tender 
days  of  early  spring,  than  hard  and  frosty  winter.  Thekla 
says  it  seems  as  if  this  life  were  dawning  softly  for  her 
uito  a  better  ;  or  as  if  God  were  keeping  her,  like  IMosas, 
with  undimined  eyes  and  strength  unabated,  till  she  niay 
have  the  glimpse  of  the  Promised  Land,  and  see  the  deliv- 
erance .she  has  so  long  waited  for  close  at  hand. 

With  our  children  she  is  as  great  a  favourite  as  she  was 
with  us,  although  she  seems  to  have  forgotten  her  old  ways 
17 


86  THE  BCnONBERGCOTTA  FAMILY. 

f  finding  fault;  either  because  she  fee?s  less  responsibility 
al)out  tlie  third  generation,  or  because  she  s(-es  all  their 
iittle  faults  through  a  mellowed  light.  I  notice,  too,  that 
sIjc  has  fallen  on  quite  a  different  vein  of  stories  from  those 
V  uich  used  to  rivet  us.  She  seems  to  pass  over  the  legen. 
dary  lore  of  her  early  womanhood,  back  to  the  experiences 
of  her  own  stirring  youth  and  childhood.  The  mysteries 
of  our  grandfother's  history,  Avhich  we  vainly  sought  to 
penetrate,  are  all  opened  to  Gretchen  and  the  boys.  The 
saints  and  hermits,  whose  adventures  were  our  delight,  are 
succeeded  by  stories  of  secret  Hussite  meetings  to  read 
■the  Scriptures  among  the  forests  and  mountains  of  Bo- 
hemia ;  of  Avild  retreats  in  caves,  where  whole  families 
lived  for  months  in  concealment ;  of  heart-rending  captures 
or  marvellous  escapes. 

The  heroes  of  my  boys  will  be,  not  St.  Christopher  and 
St.  Geoi'ge,  but  Hussite  heretics !  My  dear  mother  often 
throws  in  a  warning  word  to  the  boys,  that  those  were 
evil  times,  and  that  people  do  not  need  to  lead  such  Avild 
lives  now.  But  the  text  makes  far  more  impression  on 
the  children  than  the  commentary. 

Our  grandmother's  own  chief  delight  is  still  in  Dr. 
Lather's  writings.  I  have  lately  read  over  to  her  and  my 
father,  I  know  not  how  many  times,  his  letter  from  the 
Wartburg  "  to  the  little  band  of  Christ  at  Wittenberg," 
with  his  commentary  accom^^anying  it  on  the  37th  Psalm 
— "  Fret  not  thyself  because  of  evildoers." 

Our  dear  father  is  full  of  the  brightest  visions.  He  is 
,  tjrsuaded  that  the  whole  world  is  being  rapidly  set  right, 
and  that  it  matters  little,  indeed,  that  his  inventions  could 
not  be  completed,  since  we  are  advancing  at  full  sj)eed 
into  the  Golden  Age  of  humanity. 

Thus,  from  very  opposite  points  and  through  very  dif 
ferent  paths,  he  and  my  mother  arrive  at  the  same  codc1u> 
sioiu 


ELSE'S  STORY.  38 

We  h^\  p.  heard  from  Thekla  that  Uh-ich  has  visited  Dr, 
Luthei  at  the  Wartburg,  where  he  is  residing.  I  am  so 
glad  to  know  where  he  is.  It  is  always  so  difficult  to  me 
to  think  of  people  without  knowing  the  scene  around 
them.  The  figure  itself  seems  to  become  shadowy  in  the 
vague,  shadowy,  unknown  Avorld  around  it.  It  is  thia 
which  adds  to  my  distress  about  Fritz.  Now  I  can  think 
of  Dr.  Luther  sitting  in  that  large  room  in  which  I  waited 
for  the  Elector  with  my  embroidery,  so  many  years  ago — 
looking  down  the  steep  over  the  folded  hills,  reaching  one 
behind  another  till  the  black  pines  and  the  green  waving 
branches  fade  into  lovely  blue  beneath  the  golden  horizon 
And  at  sunset  I  seem  to  see  how  the  shadows  creep  over 
the  green  valleys  where  we  used  to  play,  and  the  lurid  sun 
lights  up  the  red  stems  of  the  pines. 

Or  in  the  summer  noon  I  see  him  sitting  Avith  his  books 
— great  folios,  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  and  Latin — toiling  at 
that  translation  of  the  Book  of  God,  which  is  to  be  th9 
blesshig  of  all  our  people ;  while  the  warm  sunbeams  draw 
out  the  aromatic  scent  of  the  fir-woods,  and  the  breezes 
bring  it  in  at  the  open  window. 

Or  at  early  morning  I  fancy  him  standing  by  the  castle 
walls,  looking  down  on  the  towers  and  distant  i-oofs  of 
Eisenach,  while  the  bell  of  the  great  convent  booms  up  to 
him  the  hour ;  and  he  thinks  of  the  busy  life  beginning  in 
the  streets,  where  once  he  begged  for  bread  at  Aunt 
Ursula  Cotta's  door.  Dear  Aunt  Ursula,  I  Avish  she  could 
have  lived  till  now,  to  see  the  rich  harvest  an  act  of  loving- 
kindness  will  sometimes  bring  forth. 

Or  at  night,  again,  when  all  sounds  are  hushed  except 
the  murmur  of  the  unseen  stream  in  the  valley  beloAv,  and 
the  sighing  of  the  wind  through  the  forest,  and  that  great 
battle  begins  which  he  has  to  fight  so  often  with  the  pow- 
ers of  darkness,  and  he  tries  to  pray,  and  cannot  lift  hia 
heart  to  God,  I  picture  him  opening  his  casement,  and 


,88  THE  SGHdNBE^O-COTTA  FAMILY. 

looking  down  on  forest,  rock,  and  meadow,  lying  dim  and 
lifeless  beneath  him,  glance  from  these  up  to  God,  and  ro- 
ar-sure  liimself  with  the  truth  he  dehglits  to  utter — 

"6'ct/  lives  still!''''  feeHng,  as  he  gazes,  tliat  night  is  only 
hiding  the  sun,  not  quenching  him,  and  watching  till  the 
giey  of  morning  slowly  steals  up  the  sky  and  down  into 
the  forest. 

Yes,  Dr.  Melancthon  has  told  us  how  he  toils  and  how 
he  suffers  at  the  Warthurg,  and  how  once  he  wrote,  "Are 
my  friends  forgetting  to  pray  for  me,  that  the  conflict  is 
so  terrible?"  No;  Gottfried  remembers  him  always 
among  our  dearest  names  of  kith  and  kindred. 

"  But,"  he  said  to-day,  "  we  must  leave  the  training  of 
our  chief  to  God." 

Poor,  tried,  perplexed  Saint  Elizabeth !  another  royal 
heart  is  suffering  at  the  Wartburg  now%  another  saint  is 
earning  his  crown  through  the  cross  at  the  old  castle 
home ;  but  not  to  be  canonized  in  the  Papal  Calendar ! 

December  21. 

THE  Chapter  of  the  Augustinian  Order  in  Thuringia 
and  Misnia  has  met  here  within  this  last  month,  to 
consider  the  question  of  the  irrevocable  nature  of  monastic 
vows.  They  have  come  to  the  decision  that  in  Christ  there 
is  neither  layman  nor  monk;  that  each  is  free  to  follow 
his  conscience. 

Christmas  Day,  1521. 

'"I^HIS  has  been  a  great  day  with  us. 

X  Archdeacon  Carlstadt  announced,  some  little  time 

since,  that  he  intended,  on  the  approaching  Feast  of  tlie 
Circumcision,  to  administer  the  holy  sacrament  to  the  laity 
under  the  two  species  of  bread  and  wine.  His  right  to  dc 
this  having  been  disputed,  he  hastened  the  accomj'lish- 
ment  of  his  purpose,  lest  it  should  be  stopped  by  any  pro 
^'tibition  from  the  court. 


ELSE'S  STCRY.  ^^ 

To  day,  after  bis  sermon  in  the  City  Church,  in  which 
he  spoke  of  tlie  necessity  of  rej>1acing  the  idolatrons  sacri- 
fice of  the  mass  by  tlie  holy  supper,  he  went  to  the  ahar, 
and,  after  pronouncing  the  consecration  of  the  elements  in 
German,  he  turned  towards  the  people,  and  said  solemnly, — 

"  Whosoever  feels  heavy  laden  with  the  burden  of  hip 
feins,  and  hungers  and  thirsts  for  the  grace  of  God,  lei 
him  come  and  receive  the  body  and  blood  of  the  Lord." 

A  brief  silence  followed  his  words,  and  then,  to  my 
amazement,  before  any  onHfelse  stirred,  I  saw  my  timid, 
retiring  mother  slowly  moving  up  the  aisle,  leading  my 
father  by  the  hand.  Others  followed  ;  some  with  reverent, 
solemn  demeanour,  others  perhaps  with  a  little  haste  and 
over  eagerness.  And  as  the  last  had  retired  from  the 
altar,  the  archdeacon,  pronouncing  the  general  absolution, 
idded  solemnly, — 

"  Go,  and  sin  no  more." 

A  feAV  moments'  pause  succeeded,  and  then,  from  many 
voices  here  and  there,  gradually  swelling  to  a  full  chorus, 
arose  the  Agnus  Dei, — 

"  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away  the  sin  of  the  world, 
have  mercy  on  us.     Give  us  ))eace." 

We  spent  the  Christmas,  as  usual,  in  my  father's  house. 
Wondering,  as  I  did,  at  my  nuMher's  boldness,  I  did  not 
like  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject ;  but,  as  we  sat  alone  in 
the  afternoon,  while  our  dear  father,  Gottfried,  Christo- 
■')lier,  and  the  children,  had  gone  to  see  the  skating  on  the 
d^lbe,  she  said  to  me, — 

"  Else,  I  could  not  help  going.  It  seemed  like  the  vcice 
.f  our  Lord  himself  saying  to  me,  '  llioii,  art  heavy  ladeu 
— come!'  I  never  understood  it  all  as  I  do  now.  It 
seemed  as  if  I  saw  the  Gospel  with  my  eyes, — saw  that  the 
redemption  is  finished,  and  that  now  the  feast  is  spread. 
I  forgot  to  question  whether  I  repented,  or  believed,  or 
loved  enough.     I  saw  through  the  ages  tlie  body  broken 


390  THE  SCIIONBERO-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

end  the  blood  shed  for  me  on  Calvary ;  and  now  I  sa?f 
the  table  spreatl,  and  heard  the  welcome,  and  I  could  not 
help  taking  your  father's  hand  and  gohig  up  at  once." 

"  Yes,  dear  mother,  you  set  the  whole  congregation  tho 
best  example,"  I  said. 

"  I !"  she  exclaimed,  "  Do  you  mean  t'tiat  1  went  up  be- 
fore any  one  else  ?  What !  before  all  the  holy  men,  and 
doctors,  and  the  people  in  authority  ?  Else,  my  child,  w  hat 
have  1  done  ?  But  I  did  not  think  of  myself,  or  of  any 
one  else.  I  only  seemed  to  hcjir  his  voice  calling  me ;  and 
what  could  I  do  but  go  ?  A.nd,  indeed,  I  cannot  care  now 
how  it  looked!  Oh,  Else,"  she  continued,  "it  is  worth 
while  to  have  the  world  thus  agitated  to  restore  this  feast 
again  to  the  Church;  worth  while,"  she  added  with  a 
trembling  voice,  "  even  to  have  Fritz  in  prison  for  this. 
The  blessed  Lord  has  sacrificed  himself  for  us,  and  Ave  are 
living  in  the  festival.  He  died  for  sinners.  He  spread 
the  feast  for  the  hungry  and  thirsty.  Then  those  who  feel 
their  sins  most  must  be  not  the  last  but  the  first  to  come. 
I  see  it  all  now.   That  holy  sacrament  is  the  Gospel  for  me." 

February  10,  1522. 

THE  A\'hole  town  is  in  commotion. 
Men  have  appeared  among  us  who  say  that  they 
are  directly  inspired  from  heaven ;  that  study  is  quite  unr- 
necessary — indeed,  an  idolatrous  concession  to  the  fiesb 
and  the  letter;  that  it  is  w'asting  time  and  strength  to 
translate  the  Holy  Scriptui-es,  since,  without  their  uuder- 
Btanding  a  word  of  Greek  or  Hebrew,  God  has  revealed 
its  meaning  to  their  hearts. 

These  men  come  from  Zwickau.  Two  of  them  are  cloth- 
weavers  ;  and  one  is  Munzer,  w^ho  was  a  priest.  They 
also  declare  themselves  to  be  prophets.  Nicholas  Storck, 
a  weaver,  their  leader,  has  cl  osen  twelve  apostles  and 
seventy-two   disciples,  in  imitation   of   our   Lord.     And 


ELSE'S  STOET.  3  ;i 

on*   of   them   exclaimed,  in    awful   tonec,   lo-t!ay  in   the 
Btveets,  — 

"■Wcc!,  woe  to  the  impious  governore  of  Chvistend  jm  ! 
Within  less  than  seven  years  the  world  shall  be  made 
desolate.  The  Turk  will  overnm  the  land.  ISTo  sinner 
shall  remain  alive.  God  Avill  purify  the  earth  by  bloodj 
Uid  all  the  priests  will  be  put  to  death.  The  saints  will 
seign.     The  day  of  the  Lord  is  at  hand.     Woe!  woe?" 

Opinions  are  divided  throughout  the  university  and  the 
lown  about  them.  The  Elector  himself  says  he  would  rather 
yield  up  his  crown  and  go  throngh  the  world  a  beggar 
tlian  resist  the  voice  of  the  Lord.  Dr.  Melancthon  hesi- 
tates, and  says  we  must  try  the  spirits,  whether  they  be 
of  God.  The  Archdeacon  Carlstadc  is  much  impressed 
with  them,  and  from  his  professorial  chair  even  exhorts 
the  stiulents  to  abandon  the  vain  pursuits  of  carnal  wiS' 
dom,  and  to  return  to  earn  their  bread,  according  to  God'a 
ordinance,  in  the  sweat  of  their  brow.  Tlie  master  of  the 
boys'  school  called,  from  the  open  window  of  the  school- 
room, to  the  citizens  to  take  back  their  children.  Not  a 
^ew  of  the  students  are  dispersing,  and  others  are  in  an 
excitable  state,  ready  for  any  tumult.  The  im.ages  have 
been  violently  torn  from  one  of  the  churches  and  burnt 
The  monks  of  the  Convent  of  the  Cordeliers  have  called 
the  soldiers  to  their  aid  against  a  threatened  attack. 

Gottfi'ied  and  others  are  persuaded  that  these  men  of 
Zwickau  are  deluded  enthusiasts.  lie  says,  "The  spirit 
.vhich  midervalues  the  Word  of  God  cannot  be  the  S])irit 
of  God." 

But  among  the  firmest  opponents  of  these  new  doctrines 
18,  to  our  surprise,  our  charitable  motler.  Iler  gentle, 
lowly  HT)irit  seems  to  shrink  from  them  as  with  a  lieavenly 
instinct.  She  says  "  the  Spirit  of  God  Inunbles— does  not 
puff  up." 

When  it  was  reported  to  us  the  other  day  that  Nicbolaa 


392  THE  SCHONBERG-COTrA  FAMILY. 

Stovck  hfid  seen  the  Angel  Gabriel  in  the  night,  who  flew 
(o\\nrds  liim  and  said  to  him,  "As  for  thee,  thou  shalt  b< 
seated  on  my  throne!"  tlie  mother  said, — 

"  It  is  new  language  to  the  angel  Gabriel,  to  speak  of 
lih  throne.  The  angels  in  old  times  used  to  speak  of  the 
throne  of  God." 

And  when  another  said  that  it  was  time  to  sift  the  chaff 
6  om  the  wheat,  and  to  foria  a  Church  of  none  but  saints, 
Bhe  said, — 

"  That  would  never  suit  me,  then.  I  must  stay  outside, 
in  the  Church  of  redeemed  sinners.  And  did  not  St.  Paul 
himself  say,  as  Dr.  Luther  told  us,  'Sinners,  of  whom  I 
am  chief?'" 

"  But  are  you  not  afraid,"  some  one  asked  her,  "  of  dis- 
honoring God  by  denying  his  messengers,  if,  after  all, 
these  prophets  should  be  sent  from  him  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  she  replied  quietly.  "  Until  the  doctors 
are  sure,  I  thiidi  I  cannot  displease  my  Saviour  by  keeping 
to  the  old  message." 

My  father,  however,  is  much  excited  about  it ;  he  sees 
no  reason  why  there  should  not  be  ])rophets  at  Wittenberg 
as  well  as  at  Jei-usalem  ;  and  in  these  wonderful  days,  he 
argues,  what  wonders  can  be  too  great  to  believe  ? 

I  and  many  others  long  exceedingly  for  Dr.  Luther.  I 
believe,  indeed,  Gottfried  is  right,  but  it  will  be  terrible  to 
make  a  mistake  ;  and  Dr.  Luther  always  seems  to  see 
Rti-aigh.  to  the  heart  of  a  thing  at  once,  and  storms  the 
citadel,  while  Dr.  Melancthon  is  going  round  and  round, 
studying  each  point  of  the  fortifications. 

Dr.  Luther  never  wavers  in  opinion  in  his  letters,  but 
warns  us  most  forcibly  against  these  delusions  of  Satan. 
But  tlien  people  say  he  has  not  seen  or  heard  the  "  proph. 
fts."  One  letter  can  be  discussed  and  answered  loitg  be^ 
fore  another  comes,  and  the  living  eye  and  voice  are  much 
"ui  8uch  a  conflict  as  thia 


ELSE'S  STORY.  393 

What  chief  could  lead  an  army  on  to  battle  by  letters  ? 

February  26,  1522. 

OUR  dove  cf  peace  has  come  back  to  our  home  ;  our 
Eva !  This  evening  when  I  v?ent  over  with  a  mes- 
sage to  my  mother,  to  my  aiaazement  I  saw  her  sitting 
with  her  hand  in  my  father's,  quietly  reading  to  him  the 
twenty-third  psalm,  while  my  grandmother  sat  U.stening, 
and  my  mother  was  contentedly  knitting  beside  them. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  scarcely  been  absent  a  day,  so 
quietly  had  she  glided  into  her  old  place.  It  seemed  so 
natural,  and  yet  so  like  a  dream,  that  the  sense  of  wonder 
passed  from  me  as  it  does  in  dreams,  and  I  went  up  to 
her  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"Dear  Cousin  Else,  is  it  you?"  she  said.  "I  intended 
to  have  come  to  you  the  first  thing  to-morrow." 

The  dear,  peaceful,  musical  voice,  what  a  calm  it  shed 
over  the  home  again ! 

"  You  see  you  have  all  left  Aunt  Cotta,"  she  said,  with 
a  slight  tremulousness  in  her  tone,  "  so  I  am  come  back  to 
be  with  her  always,  if  she  will  let  me" 

There  were  never  any  pretensions  of  affection  between 
my  mother  and  Eva,  they  understood  each  other  so  com- 
pletely. 

February  28. 

YES,  it  is  no  dream.  Eva  has  left  the  convent,  and 
is  one  of  us  once  more.  Now  that  she  has  resumed 
all  her  old  ways,  I  wonder  more  than  ever  how  we  could 
have  got  on  without  her.  She  speaks  as  quietly  of  her 
escape  from  the  convent,  and  her  lonely  journey  across 
the  country,  as  if  it  were  the  easiest  and  most  everyday 
occurrence.  She  says  every  one  seemed  anxious  to  help 
ber  and  take  care  of  her. 

She  is  very  little  changed.     Hers  was  not  a  face  to 
17* 


394  THE  SCnOKBEIiG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

change.  The  old  guileless  expression  is  on  her  lips — tha 
same  trustful,  truthful  light  in  her  dark  soft  eyes  ;  the 
calm,  peaceful  brow,  that  always  reminded  one  of  a  sunny, 
cloudless  sky,  is  calm  and  bright  still ;  and  around  it  the 
golden  hair,  not  yet  grown  from  its  conventual  cutting, 
clusters  in  little  curls,  which  remind  me  of  her  first  days 
with  us  at  Eisenbach.  Only  all  the  character  of  the  face 
seems  deepened,  I  cannot  say  shadowed,  but  penetrated 
with  that  kind  of  look  which  I  fancy  must  always  dis- 
tiuguish  the  faces  of  the  saints  above  from  those  of  the 
angels, — those  who  have  suffered  from  those  who  have 
only  sympathized ;  that  deep,  tender,  patient,  trusting, 
human  look,  which  is  stamped  on  those  who  have  passed 
to  the  heavenly  rapturous  "Thy  will  be  done,"  through 
the  agony  of  "  Not  my  will,  but  Thine.'' 

At  first  Gretchen  met  her  with  the  kind  of  revereni 
face  she  has  at  church  ;  and  she  asked  me  afterwards,  "Is 
that  really  the  Cousin  Eva  in  the  picture  ? "  But  now 
there  is  the  most  familiar  intimacy  between  them,  and 
Gretchen  confidingly  and  elaborately  expounds  to  Cousin 
Eva  all  her  most  secret  plans  and  delights.  The  boys, 
also,  have  a  most  unusual  value  for  her  good  opinion,  and 
appear  to  think  her  judgment  beyond  that  of  ordinary 
women  ;  for  yesterday  little  Fritz  was  eagerly  explaining 
to  her  the  virtues  of  a  new  bow  that  had  been  given  him, 
formed  in  the  English  fashion. 

She  is  very  anxious  to  set  nine  young  nuns,  who  have 
embraced  the  Lutheran  doctrine,  free  from  Nimtpschen. 
Gottfried  thinks  it  very  difficult,  but  by  no  means  imprac- 
ticable in  time. 

Meanwhile,  what  a  stormy  world  our  dove  has  returned 
to ! — the  university  well-nigh  disorganized  ;  tlie  town  in 
commotion;  and  no  German  Bible  yet  in  any  one's  hands, 
by  which,  as  Gottfried  says,  the  claims  of  these  new 
prophets  might  be  tested. 


JSLSE'H  STOUT,  %,^ 

If et  it  does  not  seem  to  depress  Eva.  She  says  it  seems 
to  her  like  coming  out  ot  the  ark  into  a  new  woild  ;  and, 
no  doubt,  Noah  did  not  find  everything  laid  out  in  order 
for  him.  She  is  quite  on  my  mother's  side  about  the  pro- 
phets. She  says,  the  apostles  preached  not  themselves, 
but  Christ  Jesus  the  Lord.  If  the  Zwickau  prophets 
preach  Him,  they  preach  nothing  new ;  and  if  they  preach 
themselves,  neither  God  nor  the  angel  Gabriel  gave  them 
that  message. 

Our  great  sorrow  is  Fritz's  continued  imprisonment. 
At  first  we  felt  sure  he  would  escape,  but  every  month 
lessens  our  hopes,  until  we  scarcely  dare  speak  of  him 
except  in  our  prayers.  Yet  daily,  together  with  his  dehv- 
erance,  Gottfried  and  I  pray  for  the  return  of  Dr.  Luther, 
and  for  the  prosperous  completion  of  his  translation  of 
the  German  Bible,  which  Gottfried  believes  will  be  the 
greatest  boon  Dr.  Luther  has  given,  or  can  ever  give,  to 
the  German  people,  and  through  them  to  Christendom. 


c^^^m 


xvm. 

ELSE'S   STORY,^ 


Saturday,  March  8,  1522. 

HE  great  warm  heart  is  beating  amongst  us 
once  more. 

Dr.  Luther  is  once  more  dweihng  quietly  in 
the  Augustinian  cloister,  which  he  left  for 
Worms  a  year  ago.  What  changes  since  then ! 
He  left  us  amidst  our  tears  and  vain  entreaties  not  to 
trust  his  precious  life  to  the  treacherous  safe-conduct 
which  had  entrapped  John  Huss  to  the  stake . 

He  returns  iinscathed  and  triumphant — the  defender  of 
the  good  cause  before  Emperor,  prelates,  and  princes,— 
the  hero  of  our  German  people. 

He  left  citizens  and  students  for  the  most  part  trem^ 
bling  at  the  daring  of  his  words  and  deeds. 

He  returns  to  find  students  and  Burghers  impetuously 
and  blindly  rushing  on  in  the  track  he  opened,  beyond 
his  judgment  and  convictions. 

He  left,  the  foremost  in  the  attack,  timidly  followed  as 
he  hurried  forward,  braving  death  alone. 

He  returns  to  recall  the  scattered  forces,  dispersed  and 
divided  in  wild  and  impetuous  pursuit. 

Will,  then,  his  voice  be  as  powerful  to  recall  and  reor- 
ganize as  ifc  was  to  urge  forward? 


ELSira  STORT.  397 

He  wrote  to  tlie  Elector,  on  bis  way  from  the  "^'art- 
barg,  disclaiming  bis  protectioH — declaring  tbat  be  re 
turned  to  tbe  flock  God  bad  committed  to  bira  at  Witten- 
berg, called  and  constrained  by  God  bimself,  and  unde: 
migbtier  protection  tban  tbat  of  an  elector !  Tbe  sword, 
he  said,  could  not  defend  tbe  truth.  Tbe  mightiest  are 
those  whose  faith  is  mightiest.  Belying  on  his  master, 
Christ,  and  on  him  alone,  he  came. 

Gottfried  says  it  is  fancy,  but  already  it  seems  to  me  I 
see  a  difference  in  the  town — less  bold,  loud  talking,  tban 
tbe  day  before  yesterday;  as  in  a  family  of  eager,  noisy 
boys,  whose  father  is  amongst  them  again.  But  after  to- 
morrow, we  shall  be  able  to  judge  better.  He  is  to  preach 
in  the  city  pulpit. 

Monday,  March  10,  1522. 

WE  have  heard  him  preach  once  more.  Thank  God, 
those  days  in  the  wilderness,  as  he  called  it,  have 
surely  not  been  lost  for  Dr.  Luther. 

As  he  stood  again  in  the  pulpit,  many  among  the 
crowded  congregation  could  not  refrain  from  shedding 
t'Oars  of  joy.  In  that  familiar  form,  and  truthful,  earnest 
face,  we  saw  the  man  who  bad  stood  unmoved  before  the 
emperor  and  all  the  great  ones  of  the  empire — alone,  up- 
holding the  trutb  of  God. 

Many  of  us  saw,  moreover,  with  even  deeper  emotion, 
the  sufferer  who,  during  those  last  ten  months,  bad  stood 
before  an  enemy  more  terrible  than  pope  or  emperor,  in 
the  jsolitude  of  the  Wartburg;  and  while  his  own  heart 
aid  flesh  were  often  well-nigh  failing  in  the  conflict,  had 
never  failed  to  carry  on  the  struggle  bravely  and  tiiuni- 
phantlj  for  us  bis  flock;  sending  masterly  replies  to  the 
Uuiversity  of  Paris;  smiting  the  lying  traffic  with  in- 
dulgences, by  one  noble  reinonstvunce,  from  tbe  tvemb- 
iing  bauds  of  the  Archbishop  of  [REainz;  writing  letter 


J9S  Tim  SCHONBERC  COTTA  FASTTLY. 

after  letter  of  consolation  or  fatherly  counsel  to  the  littl'^ 
flock  of  Christ  at  "Wittenberg;  and  through  all,  toiling  at 
that  translation  of  the  Word  ol  God,  which  is  the  great 
hopo  of  our  country. 

Bat  older,  tenderer,  more  familiar  asssociations,  mas^ 
lered  all  the  others  when  we  heard  his  voice  again — the 
faithful  voice  that  had  warned  and  comforted  us  so  long 
in  public  and  in  private.  To  others,  Dr.  Luther  might 
be  the  hero  of  Worms,  the  teacher  of  Germany,  the  St, 
George  who  had  smitten  the  dragon  of  falsehood;  to  us 
he  was  the  true,  affectionate  pastor;  and  many  of  us,  I  be- 
lieve, heard  litttle  of  the  first  words  of  his  sermon,  for  tho 
mere  joy  of  hearing  his  voice  again,  as  the  clear  deep 
tones  vibrated  through  the  silent  church. 

He  began  with  commending  our  faith.  He  said  we 
had  made  much  progress  during  his  absence.  But  he 
went  on  to  say,  "We  must  have  more  than  faith — we 
must  have  love.  If  a  man  with  a  sword  in  his  hand  hap- 
pens to  be  alone,  it  matters  little  whether  he  keep  it  in 
the  scabbard  or  not;  but  if  he  is  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd, 
he  must  take  care  to  hold  it  so  as  not  to  hurt  any  one. 

"  A  mother  begins  with  giving  her  infant  milk.  Would 
it  live  if  she  gave  it  first  meat  and  wine  ? 

"  But  thou,  my  friend,  hast,  perhaps,  had  enough  of 
milk.  It  may  be  well  for  thee.  Yet  let  thy  weaker, 
younger  brother  take  it.  The  time  was  when  thou  also 
couldst  have  taken  nothing  else. 

"See  the  sun  I  It  brings  us  two  things— light  and 
heat.  The  rays  of  light  beam  directly  on  us.  No  king 
is  powerful  enough  to  intercept  those  keen,  direct,  swift 
rays.  But  heat  is  radiated  back  to  us  from  every  side. 
Thus,  like  the  light,  faith  should  ever  be  direct  and  in- 
flexible; but  love,  like  the  heat,  should  radiate  on  all  sides, 
and  meekly  adapt  itself  to  the  wants  of  all. 

"  The  abolition  of  the  mass,  you  say,"  he  continued, 


ELSE'S  STOSr.  399 

**  is  according  to  Scripture,  I  agree  with  you.  But  in 
abolishing  it,  what  regard  had  you  for  order  and  decen- 
cy ?  You  should  have  offered  fervent  prayers  to  God, 
public  authority  should  have  been  apphed  to,  and  every 
one  would  have  seen  then  that  the  thing  came  from  God. 

"  The  mass  is  a  bad  thing;  God  is  its  enemy;  it  ought 
to  bo  abolished;  and  I  would  that  throughout  the  whole 
world  it  were  superseded  by  the  Supper  of  the  Gospel. 
But  let  none  tear  any  one  away  from  it  with  violence. 
The  matter  ought  to  be  committed  to  God.  It  is  his 
Word  that  must  act,  and  not  we.  And  wherefore,  do  you 
say?  Because  I  do  not  hold  the  hearts  of  men  in  my 
hand  as  the  potter  holds  the  clay  in  his.  Our  work  is 
to  speak;  God  will  act.  Let  us  preach.  The  rest  be- 
longs to  him.  If  I  employ  iorce,  what  do  I  gain  ? 
Changes  in  demeanor,  outward  shows,  grimaces,  shams, 
hypocrisies.  But' what  becomes  of  sincerity  of  heart,  of  faith, 
of  Christian  love  ?  All  is  wanting  where  these  are  want- 
ing; and  for  the  rest  I  would  not  give  the  stalk  oi  a  pear. 

""What  we  want  is  the  heart;  and  to  win  that,  we 
must  preach  the  Gospel.  Then  the  world  ^viil  dvaw  to- 
day into  one  heart,  to-morrow  into  another,  and  will  so 
woik  that  each  will  forsake  the  mass.  God  cSectfi  more  than 
you  and  I  and  the  whole  world  combined  could  attempt. 
He  secures  the  heart;  and  when  that  is  won,  all  is  won. 

"  I  say  not  this  in  order  to  re-establish  the  mass.  Since 
it  has  been  put  down,  in  God's  name  let  it  remain  ro. 
But  ought  it  to  have  been  put  down  in  the  way  it  has 
been  ?  St.  Paul,  on  arriving  at  the  great  city  of  Athens, 
found  altars  there  erected  to  false  gods.  He  passed  from 
one  to  another,  made  his  own  reflections  on  all,  but 
touched  none.  But  lie  returned  peaceably  to  the  Forum, 
and  declared  to  the  people  that  all  those  gods  were  mere 
idols.  This  declaration  laid  hold  of  the  hearts  of  some, 
and  the  idols  fell  witliout  Paul's  touchiug  them.     I  would 


400  TEE  SCEdNBEIiG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

preach,  I  would  speak,  I  would  write,  but  I  would  lay  con- 
straiut  on  no  one;  for  faith  is  a  voluntary  thing.  See- 
what  I  have  done !  I  rose  in  opposition  to  the  pope,  to 
indulgences,  and  the  Papists;  but  I  did  so  without  tu- 
mult or  violence.  I  pressed  before  all  things  the  Word 
of  God;  I  preached,  I  wrote;  I  did  nothing  else.  And 
while  I  was  asleep,  or  seated  at  table  in  conversation  with 
Amsdorf  and  Melancthon,  over  our  Wittenbei-g  beer,  that 
Word  which  I  had  been  preaching  was  working,  and  sub- 
verted the  problem  as  never  before  it  was  damaged  by 
assault  of  prince  or  emperor.  I  did  nothing;  all  was 
done  by  the  Word.  Had  I  sought  to  appeal  to  force 
Germany  might  by  this  time  have  been  steeped  in  blood. 
And  what  would  have  been  the  result?  Rnin  and  deso- 
lation of  soul  and  body.  I  therefore  kept  myself  quiet, 
and  left  the  Word  to  force  its  own  way  through  the  World . 
Know  you  what  the  devil  thinks  when  he  sees  people  em- 
ploy violence  in  disseminating  the  Gospel  among  men  ? 
Seated  with  his  arms  crossed  behind  hell-fire,  Satan  says, 
with  a  malign  ant  look  and  hideous  leer,  *  Ah,  but  these 
fools  are  wise  men,  indeed,  to  do  my  work  for  me  1'  But 
when  he  sees  the  Word  go  forth  and  engage  alone  on  the 
field  of  battle,  then  he  feels  ill  at  ease;  his  knees  smite 
against  each  other,  he  shudders  and  swoons  away  with 
terror." 

Quietly  and  reverently,  not  with  loud  debatings  and 
noisy  protestations  of  what  they  would  do  nest,  the  con- 
gregation dispersed. 

The  words  of  forbearance  came  with  such  weight  from 
that  daring,  fearless  heart,  which  has  braved  the  wrath  ol 
popedom  and  empire  alone  for  God,  and  still  braves  ex» 
communication  and  ban ! 

Wednesday,  March  11. 

YESTERDAY  again  Dr.  Luther  preached.     He  earn, 
pstly  warned  us  against  the  irreverent  participation 
in  the  holy  sacrament.     "It  is  not  the  external  eating 


ELSE'S  STORY.  401 

whicli  makes  the  Christian,"  he  said  ;  "It  is  the  internal 
and  spiritual  eating,  which  is  the  work  of  faith,  and  with- 
out which  all  external  things  are  mere  empty  shows  and 
vain  grimaces.  Now  this  faith  consists  in  firmly  belie^dng 
that  Jesus  Christ  is  the  Son  of  God ;  that  having  charged 
himself  with  our  sins  and  our  iniquities,  and  having  borne 
them  on  the  cross,  he  is  himself  the  sole,  the  all-sufficient 
expiation  ;  that  he  ever  appears  before  God  ;  that  he 
reconciles  us  to  the  Father,  and  that  he  has  given  us  the 
sacrament  of  his  body  in  order  to  strengthen  our  faith  in 
that  unutterable  mercy.  If  I  believe  these  things,  God  is 
my  defender  :  with  him  on  my  side,  I  brave  sin,  death, 
hell,  and  demons  ;  they  can  do  me  no  harm,  nor  even 
touch  a  hair  of  my  head.  This  spiritual  bread  is  the  con- 
solation of  the  afflicted,  the  cure  of  the  sick,  the  life  of 
the  dying,  the  food  of  the  hungry,  the  treasure  of  the 
poor.  He  who  is  not  grieved  by  his  sins,  ought  not, 
then,  to  approach  this  altar.  What  would  he  do  there  ? 
Ah,  did  our  conscience  accuse  us,  did  our  heart  feel 
crushed  at  the  thought  of  our  shortcomings,  we  could  not 
then  lightly  approach  the  holy  sacrament." 

There  were  more  among  us  than  the  monk  Gabriel 
Didymus  (a  few  days  since  one  of  the  most  devoted  of 
the  violent  faction,  now  sober  and  brought  to  his  right 
mind),  that  could  say  as  we  listened,  "Verily  it  is  as  the 
voice  of  an  angel." 

But,  thank  God,  it  is  not  the  voice  of  an  angel,  but  a 
human  voice  vibrating  to  every  feeling  of  our  hearts — the 
voice  of  our  own  true,  outspoken  Martin  Luther,  who 
will,  we  trust,  now  remain  with  us  to  build  up  with  the 
same  word  which  has  already  cleared  away  so  much. 

And  yet  I  cannot  help  feeling  as  if  his  absence  had 
done  its  work  for  us  as  well  as  his  return.  If  the  hands 
of  violence  can  be  arrested  now,  I  cannot  but  rejoice  they 
have  done  just  as  much  as  they  have. 


402  THE  Si  IIONBER G-  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  T. 

Now,  let  Dr.  Luther's  principles  stand.  Abolisli  noth- 
ing that  is  not  directly  prohibited  by  the  holy  Scriptures. 

March  30. 

DE.  LUTHER'S  eight  discourses  are  finished,  and 
quiet  is  restored  to  Wittenberg.  The  students  re- 
sume their  studies,  the  boys  return  to  school;  each  begins 
with  a  lowly  heart  once  more  the  work  of  his  calling. 

Ko  one  has  been  punished.  Luther  would  not  have 
force  employed  either  against  the  superstitious  or  the 
unbelieving  innovators.  "Liberty,''  he  says,  "is  of  the 
essence  of  faith." 

With  his  tender  regard  for  the  sufferings  of  others  we 
do  not  wonder  so  much  at  this. 

But  we  all  wonder  far  more  at  the  gentleness  of  his 
words.  They  say  the  bravest  soldiers  make  the  best 
nurses  of  their  wounded  comrades.  Luther's  hand  seems 
to  have  laid  aside  the  battle-axe,  and  coming  among  his 
sick  and  wounded  and  perplexed  people  here,  he  minis- 
ters to  them  geut!y  as  the  kindest  woman — as  our  own 
mother  could,  who'is  herself  won  over  to  love  and  revere 
him  with  all  her  heart. 

Not  a  bitter  word  has  escaped  him,  although  the  cause 
those  disorders  are  risking  is  the  cause  for  which  he  has 
risked  his  life. 

And  there  are  no  more  tumults  in  the  streets.  The 
frightened  Cordelier  monks  may  carry  on  their  ceremo- 
nies without  terror,  or  the  aid  of  soldiery.  All  the  war- 
Uke  SQ^its  are  turned  once  more  from  raging  against 
small  external  things,  to  the  great  battle  beginning  every- 
where against  bondage  and  superstition. 

Dr.  Luther  himself  has  engaged  Dr.  Melancthon's 
assistance  in  correcting  and  perfecting  the  translat  on  of 
the  New  Testament  he  accomplished  in  the  solitude  of 
the  Wartlrirg.     Their  friendship  seems  closer  than  ever. 


ELSE'S  STORY.  403 

Cbristopher.s's  press  is  in  the  fuUrst  acti-vity,  arul  all 
.#era  full  of  happy,  orderly  occupation  again. 

Sometimes  I  tremble  when  I  think  how  mucli  Tre  seem 
lo  depend  upon  Dr.  Luther,  lest  we  should  make  an  idol 
yi  him  ;  but  Thekla,  who  is  amongst  us  again,  said  to  me 
p?hen  I  expressed  this  fear, — 

"Ah,  dear  Else,  it  is  the  old  superstition.  When  God 
^•ives  us  a  glorious  summer  and  good  harvest,  are  we  to 
receive  it  coldly  and  enjoy  it  tremblingly,  lest  he  should 
send  us  a  bad  season  next  year  to  prevent  our  being  too 
lappy?  If  he  sends  the  dark  days,  will  he  not  also  give 
AS  a  lamp  for  our  feet  through  them  ?  " 

And  even  our  gentle  mother  said, — 

"  I  think  if  God  gives  us  a  staff.  Else,  he  intends  us  to 
''ean  on  it." 

"  Ana  \Yhen  he  takes  it  away,"  said  Eva,  "  I  think  he  is 
sxire  to  f;ive  us  his  own  hand  instead.  I  think  what 
grieves  God  is,  when  we  use  his  gifts  for  what  he  did  not 
intend  them  to  be  ;  as  if,  for  instance,  we  were  to  plant  our 
staff  instead  of  leaning  on  it ;  or  to  set  it  up  as  an  image 
and  adore  it,  instead  of  resting  on  it  and  adoring  God 
Then,  I  suppose,  we  might  have  to  learn  that  our  idol 
was  not  in  itself  a  support,  or  a  living  thing  at  all,  but 
only  a  piece  of  lifeless  wood." 

"  Yes,"  said  Thekla  decidedly,  "  when  God  gives  us 
friends,  I  believe  he  means  us  to  love  them  as  much  as 
we  can.  And  when  he  gives  us  happiness,  I  am  sure  he 
means  us  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as  we  can.  And  when  he 
gives  soldiers  a  good  general,  he  means  them  to  trust  and 
follow  him.  And  when  he  gives  us  back  Dr  Luther  and 
Cousin  Eva,"  she  added,  drawing  Eva's  hand  from  her 
xvork  and  covering  it  with  kisses,  "  I  am  quite  sure  he 
means  us  to  welcome  them  with  all  our  hearts,  and  feel 
tliat  we  can  never  make  enough  of  them.  O  Else,"  she 
added,  smiling,  "  you  will  never,  I  am  afraid,  be  set  quite 


404  THE  SClWNBF.na-COTTA  FAMILY. 

free  fr6m  the  old  fetters.  Every  now  and  then  we  shall 
hear  them  clanking  about  you,  like  the  chains  of  the 
family  ghost  of  the  Gersdorfs.  You  will  never  quite  be. 
Heve,  dear  good  sister,  that  God  is  not  better  pleased  wj'-.b 
you  when  you  are  sad  than  when  you  are  happy." 

"  He  is  often  nearest,"  said  Eva  softly,  '*  when  we  are 
sad."  And  Thekla's  lip  quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  she  replied  in  a  different  tone, — 

"I  think  I  know  that  too,  Cousin  Eva." 

Poor  child,  she  has  often  had  to  prove  it  Her  heart 
miist  often  ache  when  she  thinks  of  the  perilous  position 
of  Bertrand  de  Crequi  among  his  hostile  kindred  in  Flan- 
ders. And  it  is  therefore  she  cannot  bear  a  shadow  of 
a  doubt  to  be  thrown  on  the  certainty  of  their  re-union. 

The  evangelical  doctrine  is  enthusiastically  welcomed  at 
Antwerp  and  other  cities  of  the  Low  Countries.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities 
oppose  it  vehemently,  and  threaten  persecution. 

M<iy,  1522. 

DR.  LUTHER  has  had  an  interview  with  Mark  Stiib* 
ner,  the  schoolmaster  Cellarius,  and  others  of  the 
Zwickau  prophets  and  their  disciples.  He  told  them 
plainly  that  he  believt  d  their  violent,  self-willed,  fanatical 
proceedings  were  suggested,  not  by  the  Holy  Spirit  of 
love  and  truth,  but  by  the  spirit  of  lies  and  malice.  Yet 
he  is  said  to  have  Hstened  to  them  with  quietness.  Cella- 
rius, they  say,  foamed  and  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage 
but  Stiibner  showed  more  self-restraint. 

However,  the  prophets  have  all  left  Wittenberg,  and 
quiet  is  restored. 

A  calm  has  come  down  on  the  place,  and  on  every  home 
in  it — the  calm  of  order  and  subjection  instead  of  the 
restlessness  of  self-will.  And  all  has  been  accomplished 
through  the  presence  and  the  words  of  the  man  whom 


ATLANTIS'   STORY.  405 

God  has  sent  to  be  our  leader,  and  whom  vie  aclvriowl- 
edge.  Not  one  act  of  violence  lias  been  doue  since  he 
came.  He  wauld  suffer  no  constraint  either  on  the  con- 
sciences of  the  disciples  of  the  "prophets,"  or  on  those  oi 
the  old  superstition.  He  relies,  as  we  all  do,  on  the 
effect  of  the  translation  of  the  Bible  into  German,  which  is 
now'quietly  and  rapidly  advancirg. 

Every  week  the  doctors  meet  in  the  Augustiuian  Con- 
vent, now  all  but  empty,  to  examine  the  work  done,  and 
to  consult  about  difficult  passages'  When  once  this  is 
accomplished,  the}'  believe  God  will  speak  through  those 
divine  pages  direct  to  all  men's  hearts,  and  preachers  and 
doctors  may  retire  to  their  lowly  subordinate  places. 


ATLANTIS'   STORY 

CHREEMHILD  and  I  have  always  been  the  least  clever 
of  the  family,  and  with  much  less  that  is  distinctive 
about  us.  Indeed,  I  do  not  think  there  is  anything  iiarticu- 
larly  characteristic  about  us,  except  our  being  twins.  Thekla 
says  we  are  pure  Saxons,  and  have  neither  of  us  anj'tbing  of 
the  impetuous  Czech  or  Bohemian  blood  ;  which  may  so  far 
be  good  for  me,  because  Conrad  has  not  a  little  of  the  ve- 
hement Swiss  character  in  him.  Every  one  always  spoke 
of  Chriemhild  and  me,  and  thought  of  us  together  ;  and 
when  they  called  us  the  beauties  of  the  family,  I  think  they 
chiefly  meant  that  we  looked  pleasant  together  by  contrast. 
Thekla  says  God  sends  the  flowers  into  the  world  as  twins; 
contrasting  with  each  other  just  as  we  did — the  dark-eyed 
violets  with  the  fair  primroses,  golden  gorso,  and  purple 
heather.  Chriemhild  she  us(!d  sometimes  to  call  sister 
Primrose,  and  me  sistrr  Violet.  Chriemhild,  however,  is 
beautiful  by  herself  without  me, — so  tall,  and  fair,  and 
placid,  and  commanding-looking,  with  her  large  gray  eyes 


yc6  TEE  SCnONBEIlGCOTTji  FAMILY. 

ior  calm  broad  brow,  and  her  erect  full  figure,  which  ai 
ways  made  her  gentle  manner  seem  condescending  like  a 
queen's.  But  I  am  nothing  without  Chriemhild;  only 
people  used  to  like  to  see  my  small  light  figure,  aur*  mj 
black  eyes  and  hair,  beside  hers. 

I  wonder  what  Conrad  Wiukelried's  people  will  think 
ct'  me  in  that  far-oflf  mountainous  Switzerland  whither  he 
is  to  take  me  !  He  is  sure  they  will  all  love  me  ;  but  how 
can  I  tell  ?  Sometimes  my  heart  flutters  a  great  deal  to 
think  of  leaving  home,  and  Else  and  the  dear  mother,  and 
all.  It  is  true  Chriemhild  seemed  to  find  it  quite  natural 
when  the  time  came,  but  she  is  so  diflferent.  Every  one 
was  sure  to  be  pleased  with  Chriemhild. 

And  I  am  so  accustomed  to  love  and  kindness.  They 
all  know  me  so  well  here,  and  how  much  less  clever  I  am 
than  the  rest,  that  they  all  bear  with  me  tenderly.  Eveii 
Thekla,  who  is  often  a  little  vehement,  is  always  gentle 
with  me,  although  she  may  laugh  a  little  sometimes  when 
I  say  anything  more  foolish  than"  usual.  I  am  so  often 
making  discoveries  of  things  that  every  one  else  knew  long 
since.  I  do  not  think  I  am  so  much  afraid  on  my  own  ac- 
count, because  I  have  so  little  rigb.t  to  expect  anything, 
and  always  get  so  much  more  than  I  deserve  from  our  dear 
heavenly  Father  and  from  every  one.  Only  on  Conrad'a 
account  I  should  like  to  be  a  little  wiser,  because  he  knows 
so  many  languages,  and  is  so  very  clever.  When  I  spoke 
to  Else  about  it  once,  she  smiled  and  said  she  had  the  same 
kind  of  fears  once,  but  if  we  ask  him,  God  will  always 
give  us  just  the  wisdom  we  want  day  by  day.  It  is  part 
of  the  "  daily  bread,"  she  said.  And  certainly  Else  is  not 
learned,  and  yet  every  one  loves  her,  and  she  does  so  much 
good  in  a  quiet  Avay.  But  then,  although  she  is  not 
learned,  she  seems  to  me  wise  in  little  things.  And  si  e 
used  to  write  a  Chronicle  Avhen  she  was  younger  than  I 
am.     She  told  me  so,  although  I  have  never  seen  it.     1 


ATLANTIS'  BTOSr.  40? 

have  been  (hinking  that  perhaps  it  is  writing  the  Chronick 
that  has  made  her  wise,  and  therefore  I  intend  to  try  to 
wiite  one.  But  as  at  jsresent  I  can  think  of  nothing  to  say 
of  my  own,  I  will  begin  by  copying  a  narrative  Conrad 
lent  me  to  read  a  few  days  since,  written  by  a  young  Swiss 
student,  a  friend  of  his,  who  has  just  come  to  Wittenberg 
from  S...  Gall,  where  his  family  live.  His  name  is  Johanu 
Kessler,  and  Conrad  thinks  him  very  good  and  diligent. 

"  Copy  of  Johann  Kesskfs  Narrative. 

"  As  we  were  journeying  towards  Wittenberg  to  studj 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  at  Jena  we  encountered  a  fearful  tem- 
pest, and  after  many  inquiries  in  the  town  for  an  inn  where 
we  might  pass  the  night,  we  could  find  none,  either  by 
seeking  or  asking ;  no  one  Avould  give  us  a  night's  lodg- 
ing. For  it  was  carnival  time,  when  people  have  little 
care  for  pilgrims  and  strangers.  So  Ave  went  forth  again 
from  the  town,  to  try  if  we  could  find  a  village  where  wp 
might  rest  for  the  night. 

"  At  the  gate,  however,  a  respectable-looking  man  met 
as,  and  spoke  kindly  to  us,  and  asked  whither  we  journeyed 
BO  late  at  night,  since  in  no  direction  could  we  reach  house 
or  inn  where  we  could  find  shelter  before  dark  night  set 
in.  It  was,  moreover,  a  road  easy  to  lose  ;  he  counselled 
us,  therefore,  to  remain  all  night  where  we  \vere. 

"  We  answered, 

"  '  Dear  father,  we  have  been  at  all  the  inns,  and  they 
sent  us  from  one  to  another  ;  everywhere  they  refused  ua 
lodging ;  we  havt',  therefore,  no  choice  but  to  journey 
further.' 

"  Then  he  asked  if  we  had  also  inquired  at  the  sigr  of 
the  Black  Bear. 

"  Then  we  said, 

"  '  We  have  not  teen  it.     Friend,  wlvere  ia  U  ? 


408  THE  SGEONBEBO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

"  TLen  lie  led  us  a  little  out  of  the  town.  And  when  h  i 
saw  the  Black  Bear,  lo,  whereas  all  the  other  landlords  had 
refused  us  shelter,  the  landlord  there  came  himself  out  at 
the  gate  to  receive  us,  bade  us  welcome,  and  led  us  into 
tliC  room. 

"  There  we  found  a  man  sitting  alone  at  the  table,  and 
before  him  lay  a  little  book.  He  greeted  us  kindly,  asked 
us  to  draw  near,  and  to  place  ourselves  by  him  at  the 
table.  For  our  shoes  (may  we  be  excused  for  writing  it) 
were  so  covered  with  nnid  and  dirt,  that  we  were  ashamed 
to  enter  boldly  into  the  chamber,  and  had  seated  ourselves 
on  a  little  bench  in  a  corner  near  the  door. 

"  Then  he  asked  us  to  drink,  which  we  could  not  refuse. 
When  we  saw  how  cordial  and  friendly  he  was,  we  seated 
ourselves  near  him  at  his  table  as  he  had  asked  us,  and 
ordered  wine  that  we  might  ask  him  to  drink  in  return. 
We  thought  nothing  else  but  that  he  was  a  trooper,  as*  lie 
sat  there,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  in  hc«en 
and  tunic,  without  armor,  a  sword  by  his  side,  his  right 
hand  on  the  pommel  of  the  sword,  his  left  grasping  its 
hilt.  His  eyes  were  black  and  deep,  flashing  and  beaming 
like  a  star,  so  that  they  could  not  well  be  looked  at. 

"  Soon  he  began  to  ask  what  was  our  native  country 
But  he  himself  replied, 

'■' '  You  are  Switzers.    From  what  part  oflMritJieriand  ?' 

"  We  answered, 

"  '  From  St.  Gall.' 

"  Then  he  said, 

"  'If  you  are  gohig  hence  to  Wittenberg,  as  I  hear,  you 
will  fmd  good  fellow-countrymen  there,  rutmely,  Doctor 
Hieronymus  Schurf,  and  his  brother.  Doctor  Augustin.' 

"  We  said, 

"  '  We  have  letters  to  them.'     And  then  we  hiqiured, 

" '  Sir,  can  you.  inform  us  if  Martin  Luther  le  now  at 
Wi''.ten)>erg,  or  if  not  where  he  is?' 


ATLANTIS'  STORT. 


405 


*'  He  gaid, 

*"  I  have  reliable  information  that  Luther  is  ;iot  now  at 
Wittenberg.  He  will,  however,  soon  be  there.  Philip 
Melancthon  is  there  now ;  he  teaches  Greek,  and  others 
teach  Hebrew.  I  counsel  you  earnestly  to  study  both  , 
for  both  are  necessary  in  order  to  understand  the  Holy 
Scriptures.' 

"  We  said, 

"  '  God  be  praised !  For  if  God  spare  our  lives  we  Avih 
not  depart  till  we  see  and  hear  that  man ;  since  on  his  ac- 
count have  we  undertaken  this  journey,  because  Ave  un- 
dei'stood  that  he  purposes  to  abolish  the  priesthood,  to- 
gctlier  with  the  mass,  as  an  unfounded  worship.  For  as 
M'e  have  from  our  youth  been  destined  by  our  parents  to 
be  priests,  we  would  know  what  kind  of  instruction  he 
will  give  us,  and  on  what  authority  he  seeks  to  efiect  such 
an  object.' 

"  After  these  words,  he  asked, 

"  '  Where  have  you  studied  hitherto  ?' 

"  AnsAver,  '  At  Basel.' 

'•  Then  said  he,  '  How  goes  it  at  Basel  ?  Is  Erasmus  of 
Rotterdam  still  there,  and  what  is  he  doing  ?' 

"  '  Sir,'  said  we,  '  we  know  not  that  thmgs  are  going  on 
there  otherwise  than  well.  Also,  Erasmus  is  there,  but 
what  he  is  occupied  with  is  unknown  to  any  one,  for  he 
keeps  hunself  very  quiet,  and  in  great  seclusion.' 

"  This  discourse  seemed  to  us  very  strange  in  the  troop- 
er ;  that  he  should  know  how  to  speak  of  both  the  Schurfs? 
of  Philip,  and  Erasmus,  and  also  of  the  study  of  Hebrew 
and  Greek. 

"Moreover,  he  now  and  then  used  Latin  woids,  so  that 
we  deemed  he  must  be  more  than  a  common  trooper. 

"  '  Friend,'  he  asked,  '  what  do  they  think  in  Switzerland 
of  Luther  V 

"  '  Sir,  there,  as  elsewhere,  there  are  rarious  opinions 
18 


4IO  THE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY 

Maiijcannofc  enough  exalt  bim,  and  praise  God  that  He 
has  made  his  truth  plain  through  him,  and  laid  eiTol 
bare;  many  on  the  other  hand,  and  among  these  more 
especially  the  clergy,  condemn  him  as  a  reprobate 
heretic' 

"  Then  he  said,  '  I  can  easily  beheve  it  is  the  clergy 
'Jiat  speak  thus.' 

"  With  such  conversation  we  grew  quite  confidential,  so 
that  my  companion  took  up  the  little  book  that  lay  be- 
fore him,  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  a  Hebrew  Psalter. 
Then  he  laid  it  quickly  down  again,  and  the  trooper  drew 
it  to  himself.  And  my  companion  said,  '  I  would  give  a 
finger  from  my  hand  to  understand  that  language.' 

"  He  answered,  '  You  will  soon  comprehend  it,  if  you 
are  diligent:  I  also  desire  to  understand  it  better,  and 
practise  myself  daily  in  it.' 

"  Meantime  the  day  declined,  and  it  became  quite  dark 
when  the  host  came  to  the  table. 

"  When  he  understood  our  fervent  desire  and  longing 
to  see  Martin  Luther,  he  said, 

"  '  Good  friends,  if  you  had  been  here  two  days  ago, 
you  would  have  had  your  wish,  for  he  sat  here  at  table, 
and  (pointing  with  his  finger)  '  in  that  place.' 

"It  vexed  and   fretted   us   much  that  we  should  have 
lingered  on  the  way;  and  we  vented  our   anger  on  the 
muddy  and  wretched  roads  that  had  delayed  us. 
"  But  we  added, 

"  It  rejoices  us,  however,  to  sit  in  the  house  and  at  the 
table  where  he  sat. 

"Thereat  the  hos'  laughed,  and  went  out  at  the  door. 
"  After  a  little  while,  he   called  me  to   come  to  him  at 
the  door  of  the   chamber.     I  was  alarmed,  fearing  I  had 
done   something   unsuitable,  or  that   I  had  unwittingly 
given  some  offence.     But  the  host  said  to  me — 

"  '  Since  I  perceive  that  you  so  much  wish  to  see  and 
hear  Luther, — that  is  he  who  is  sitting  with  you.' 


ATLANTIS"    aiORY.  411 

*'  I  thougM  lie  was  jesting,  and  said — 

"  *  Ah,  Sir  Host,  you  would  befool  me  and  my  wishes 
with  a  false  imago  of  Luther !' 

"  Ho  answered — 

"  '  It  is  certainly  he.  But  do  not  seem  as  if  you  know 
this.' 

"  I  could  not  believe  it ;  but  I  went  back  into  the  room, 
and  longed  to  tell  my  companion  what  the  host  had  dis- 
closed to  me.  At  lafit  I  turned  to  him,  and  whispered 
softly — 

"  The  host  has  told  me  that  is  Luther.' 

"  '  Ho  like  me  could  not  at  once  believe  it,  and  said— 

"  '  He  said,  perhaps,  it  was  Hutten,  and  thou  hast  mis- 
understood him.' 

"  '  And  because  the  stranger's  bearing  and  military  dresa 
suited  Hutton  better  than  Luther,  I  suffered  myself  to  bo 
persuaded  ho  had  said  "  It  is  Hutton,'  since  the  two  names 
had  a  somewhat  similar  sound.  "What  I  said  further,  there- 
fore, was  on  the  supposition  that  I  was  conversing  with 
Huldrich  ab  Hutten,  the  knight. 

"  '  While  this  was  going  on,  two  mercliants  arrived,  who 
intended  also  to  remain  the  night ;  and  after  they  had 
taken  off  their  outer  coats  and  spurs,  one  laid  down 
beside  him  an  unbound  book. 

"  '  Then  be  the  host  had  (as  I  thonght)  called  Martin 
Lnther,  asked  wliat  the  book  was. 

"  '  It  is  Dr.  Martin  Luther's  Exposition  of  certain  Gospela 
and  Epistles,  just  published.     Have  you  not  yet  seen  it  ?' 

"  *  Said  Martin,  '  Ft  will  soon  be  sent  to  me.* 

"  Then  said  the  host — 

"  '  Place  yourselves  at  table  ;  we  will  eat.* 

"  But  we  besought  him  to  excuse  us,  and  give  us  a  place 
apart.    But  he  said — 

"  *  Good  friends,  seat  yourselves  at  the  table.  I  will  seo 
that  you  are  welcome' 


412  THE  SC  HONBERQ.  CO  7  TA  FA  MIL  F. 

**  When  Martin  lieavd  that,  lie  said — 

"'Gome,  come,  I  -will  settle  the  score  with  the  host 
by-and-by.' 

"  Duriag  the  meal,  Martin  said  many  pious  and  friendly 
words,  so  that  the  mercliauts  and  we  were  dumb  before 
him,  ard  heeded  his  discourse  far  more  than  our  food. 
Among  other  things,  he  complained,  with  a  sigh,  how  the 
princes  and  nobles  were  gathered  at  the  Diet  at  Niirn- 
berg  on  account  of  God's  word,  many  difficult  matters, 
und  the  02)pression  of  the  Gernwin  nation,  and  yet 
seemed  to  have  no  purpose  but  to  bring  about  better  times 
by  means  of  toarueys,  eleigh-rides,  and  all  kinds  of  vain, 
courtly  pie  isures  ;  whei'eas  the  fear  of  God  and  Christian 
prayer  would  accomplish  so  much  more. 

"  '  Yet  these,'  said  he,  sadly, '  are  our  Christian  princes !' 

"Further,  he  said,  '  We  must  hope  that  the  evajigelical 
truth  will  bring  forth  better  finiit  in  our  chi'dren  and  suc- 
cessors— who  will  never  have  been  poisoned  by  papal 
error,  but  will  be  planted  in  the  pare  tniih  and  word  of 
God — than  in  their  parent;?,  in  whom  thewe  errors  sj-e  so 
deeply  rooted  that  they  are  hard  to  eradicate.' 

"After  this,  the  merchants  gave  their  opinion,  and  the 
elder  of  them  said — 

"  '  I  am  a  simple,  unlearned  layman,  and  have  no  special 
understanding  o£  these  matters  ;  but  as  I  look  at  the 
thing,  1  say,  Luther  must  either  be  an  angel  from  heaven 
or  a  devil  from  hell.  I  would  gladly  give  ten  florins  to  bo 
confessed  by  him,  for  I  believe  hA  could  and  would 
enlighten  my  conscience.' 

"  jNIeantime  the  host  came  secretly  to  us  and  said — 

"  '  Martin  has  paid  for  your  supper.* 

"  This  pleased  us  much,  not  on  account  of  the  gold  or 
the  meal,  but  because  that  man  had  made  us  his  guests. 

"After  supper,  the  merchants  rose  and  went  into  the 
utable  to  look  after  their  horses.     Meanwhile  Martin  ra. 


ATLANTIS'  STOJtr,  413 

.mained  in  the  room  with  us,  and  we  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness  and  generosity,  and  ventured  to  say  we  took  him 
to  be  Huldrich  ab  Hutten.     But  he  said — 

" '  I  am  not  he.' 

"  Thereupon  the  host  came  and  Martin  said — 

'"'I  hare  to-night  become  a  nobleman,  for  these  Swit* 
ters  take  me  for  Huldrich  ab  Hutten.' 

"And  then  he  laughed  at  the  jest,  and  said — 

"  They  take  me  for  Hutten,  and  you  take  me  for  Lu- 
ther.    Soon  I  shall  become  Markolfas  the  clown.' 

"  And  after  this  he  took  a  tall  beer-glass  and  said,  ac- 
Tording  to  the  custom  of  the  country — 

"  '  Switzers,  drink  after  me  a  friendly  draught  to  each 
other's  welfare.' 

"  But  as  I  was  about  to  take  the  glass  from  him,  he 
changed  it,  and  ordered,  instead,  a  glass  of  wine,  and  said  : 

" '  Beer  is  a  strange  and  unwonted  beverage  to  you. 
Diink  the  wine.' 

"  Thereupon  he  stood  up,  threw  his  mantel  over  hia 
shoulder,  and  took  leave.  He  offered  us  his  hand,  and 
said — 

"  '  When  you  come  to  Wittenberg,  groat  Dr.  Hierony- 
mus  Schui-f  from  me — 

«  We  said— 

"  *  Gladly  would  we  do  that,  but  what  shall  we  call  you, 
that  he  may  understand  the  greeting  ?' 

"  He  said— 

" '  Say  nothing  more  than.  He  who  is  coming,  sends  you 
gi-eeting.     He  will  at  once  understand  the  words.' 

"  Tims  he  took  leave  of  us,  and  retired  to  rest. 

"  Afterwards  the  merchants  returned  into  the  room,  and 
desired  the  host  to  bring  tliem  more  to  drink,  whilst  they 
had  much  to  talk  with  him  as  to  who  his  guest  really  w;ir. 

"  The  host  confessed  he  took  him  to  be  Luther;  where- 
noca  they  were  soon  persuaded,  and  regretted  that  they 


4 14  THE  SCSONBFIiQ.  CO  TTA  FA  MIL  T. 

had  spoken  so  unbecomiDgly  before  him,  and  said  they 
would  rise  early  on  the  following  morning,  before -he  rode 
off,  and  beg  him  not  to  be  angry  with  them,  or  think 
evil  of  them,  since  they  had  not  known  who  he  was. 

"  This  happened  as  they  wished,  and  they  found  him 
the  next  morning  in  the  stable. 

"  But  Martin  said,  '  You  said  last  night  at  supper  you 
would  gladly  give  ten  florins  to  confess  to  Luther.  When 
you  confess  yourselves  to  him  jou  will  know  whether  I 
am  Martin  Luther  or  not.' 

"  Further  than  this  he  did  not  declare  who  he  was,  but 
soon  afterwards  mounted  and  rode  off  to  Wittenberg. 

"  On  the  same  day  we  came  to  Naumburg,  and  as  we 
entered  the  village  (it  lies  under  a  mountain,  and  I  think 
the  mountain  is  called  Orlamunde,  and  the  village  Nas- 
shausen),  a  stream  was  flowing  through  it  which  was 
swollen  by  the  rain  of  the  previous  day,  and  had  carried 
away  part  of  the  bridge,  so  that  no  one  could  ride  over  it. 
In  the  same  village  we  lodged  for  the  night,  and  it  hap- 
pened that  we  again  found  in  the  inn  the  two  merchants 
so  they,  for  [Luther's  sake,  insisted  on  making  us  their 
guests  at  this  inn. 

"On  the  Saturday  after,  the  day  before  the  first  Sunday 
iu  Lent,  we  went  to  Dr.  Hieronymus  Schurf  to  deliver  our 
letters  of  introduction.  When  we  were  called  into  the 
room,  lo  and  behold !  there  we  found  the  trooper  Martin 
as  before  at  Jena,  and  with  him  were  Philip  Melancthon, 
Justus  Jonas,,  Nicolaus  Amsdorf ,  and  Dr.  Augustin  Schurf 
who  were  relating  to  him  what  had  happened  at  Witten- 
berg during  his  absence.  He  greeted  us,  and  laughing 
pointed  with  his  finger  and  said,  '  This  is  Philip  Melanc- 
thon, of  wliom  I  spoke  to  you.' " 

I  have  copied  this  to  begin  to  improve  myself,  that  I 
may  be  a  better  companion  for  Conrad,  and  also  because 
in  after  years  I  think  we  shall  prize  anything  which  shows 


jiS.j.^^X.'tXlO      C3lVtit,  415 

how  onr  Martlii  Luther  vron  the  hearts  of  strangers,  and 
how,  when  returning  to  Wittenberg  an  excommunicated 
and  outlawed  man,  with  all  the  care  of  the  evangelical 
doctrine  on  him,  he  had  a  heart  at  leisure  for  little  acts 
of  kindness  and  words  of  faithful  counsel. 

"What  a  blessing  it  is  for  me,  who  can  understand 
nothing  of  the  "  Theologia  Teutsch"  even  in  German,  and 
never  could  have  learned  Latin  like  Eva,  that  Dr.  Luther's 
sermons  are  so  plain  to  me,  great  and  learned  as  he  is. 
Chriemhild  and  I  always  understood  them,  and  although 
we  never  could  talk  much  to  others,  at  night  in  our  bed- 
room we  used  to  speak  to  each  other  about  them,  and  say 
how  very  simple  religion  seemed  when  he  spoke  of  it,  just 
to  believe  in  our  blessed  Lord  Jesus  Cbrist,  who  died  for 
our  sins,  and  to  love  him  and  to  do  all  we  can  to  make 
every  one  around  us  happier  and  better.  What  a  bless- 
ing for  people  who  are  not  clever,  like  Chriemhild  and  me, 
to  have  been  born  in  days  when  we  are  taught  that  re- 
ligion is  faith  and  love,  instead  of  all  those  compUcated 
rules  and  lofty  supernatural  virtues  which  people  used  to 
call  religion. 

And  yet  they  say  faith,  and  love,  and  humility,  are  more 
really  hard  than  all  the  old  penances  and  good  works. 

But  that  must  be,  I  think,  to  people  who  have  never 
heard,  as  we  have  from  Dr.  Luther,  so  much  about  God  to 
make  us  love  him;  or  to  people  who  have  more  to  be 
proud  of  than  Clriemhild  and  I,  and  so  find  it  more  diffi. 
cult  to  think  little  of  themselTefl. 


♦16  THM  SVHOXBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY, 

EVA'S    STORY  . 

WiTTENBERa,  Octobef,  1522. 

HOW  strange  it  seemed  at  first  to  be  moving  freely 
about  in  the  world  once  more,  and  to  come  back 
to  the  old  home  of  Wittenberg !  Very  strange  to  find 
the  places  so  little  changed,  and  the  people  so  much.  The 
little  room  where  Else  and  I  used  to  sleep,  with  scarcely 
an  article  of  furniture  altered,  except  that  Thekla's  books 
are  there  instead  of  Else's  wooden  crucifix;  and  the 
same  view  over  the  little  garden,  with  its  pear-tree  full  of 
white  blossom,  to  the  Elbe  with  its  borderiQg  oaks  and 
willows,  all  there  in  their  freshest  delicate  early  green, 
while  the  undulations  of  the  level  land  faded  in  the  soft 
blues  to  the  horizon. 

But,  unlike  the  convent,  all  the  changes  in  the  people 
seemed  to  have  been  wrought  by  the  touch  of  life  rather 
than  by  that  of  deatli. 

In  Else's  own  home  across  the  street,  the  ringing  of 
those  sweet  childish  voices,  so  new  to  me,  and  yet  familiar 
with  echoes  of  old  tones  and  looks  of  our  own  well-remem- 
bered early  days  !  And  on  Else  herself  the  change  seemed 
only  siich  as  that  which  develops  the  soft  tints  of  spring 
on  the  green  of  shadowing  leaves. 

Christopher  has  grown  from  the  self-assertion  of  boy- 
hood into  the  strength  and  protecting  kindness  of  man- 
hood. Uncle  Gotta's  blindness  seems  to  dignify  him  and 
make  him  the  central  object  of  every  one's  tender  reverent 
care,  while  the  visions  grow  bright  in  the  darkness,  and 
more  placid  on  account  of  his  having  no  responsibility  as 
to  fulfilling  them.  He  seems  to  me  a  kind  of  hallowing 
presence  in  the  family,  calling  out  every  one's  sympathy 
and  kindness  <ind  pathetica  ly  reminding  us  by  his  losa 
of  the  preciousness  of  our  common  mercies. 


EVA'S  STORT.  41 « 

On  the  grandmother's  heart  the  light  is  move  like  dawu 
than  sunset,  so  fresh,  and  soft,  and  full  of  hope  her.  old  age 
seems.  The  marks  of  fretting,  daily  anxiety  and  care  have 
been  smoothed  from  dear  Cotta's  face ;  and  although  a 
deep  shadow  rests  there  often  when  she  thinkp  of  Fritz,  1 
feel  sure  sorrow  is  Dot  now  to  her  the  shadow  of  a  monnt- 
ain  of  divine  wrath,  but  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  which  brings 
olessing  and  hides  light,  which  the  Sun  of  love  drew  forth, 
and  the  Rainbow  of  promise  consecrates. 

Yet  he  has  the  place  of  the  firstborn  in  ker  heart.  With 
the  others,  though  not  forgotten,  I  think  his  place  is  j^artly 
filled — but  never  with  her.  Else's  life  is  very  full.  Atlan- 
tis never  knew  him  as  the  elder  ones  did  ;  and  Thekla, 
dearly  as  she  learned  to  lore  huu  during  his  little  sojourn 
at  "Wittenberg,  has  her  heart  filled  with  the  hopes  of  her 
future,  or  at  times  overwhelmed  Avith  its  fears.  With  all 
It  almost  seems  he  would  have  in  some  measure  to  make 
a  place  again,  if  he  were  to  return.  But  with  Aunt  Cotta, 
the  blank  is  as  utterly  a  blank,  and  a  sacred  place  kept 
free  from  all  intrusion,  as  if  it  were  a  chamber  of  our  dead, 
kept  jealously  locked  and  untouched  since  the  last  day  he 
stood  living  there.  Yet  he  surely  is  not  dead  ;  I  say  so  to 
myself  and  to  her  when  she  speaks  of  it,  a  thousand  times. 
Why,  then,  does  this  hopeless  feeling  creep  over  me  when 
I  think  of  him  ?  It  seems  so  impossible  to  believe  he  ever 
can  be  amongst  us  any  more.  If  it  would  please  God  only 
to  send  us  some  little  word  !  But  since  that  letter  from 
EViest  Ivuprecht  Ilaller,  not  a  syllable  has  reached  us.  Two 
months  since,  Christopher  went  to  this  priest's  village  in 
Franconia,  and  Inigerod  some  dajs  in  the  neighborhood, 
making  inquiries  in  every  direction  around  the  monastery 
where  lie  is.  But  he  could  hear  nothing,  save  that  in  the 
autumn  of  last  year,  the  little  son  of  a  neighboring  knight, 
who  was  watching  his  mother's  geese  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  forest  near  the  couveut,  used  to  hear  the  sounds  of  a 
18* 


^  1 8  TEE  SCHONBERQ-  CO TTA  FAMIL  Y. 

raaii's  Toice  singing  from  the  window  of  the  tower  wher« 

the  convent  prison  is  The  child  used  to  Uuger  near  the 
spot  to  listen  to  the  songs,  which,  he  said,  were  so  rich  and 
deep  —  sacred,  like  church  hymns,  but  more  joyful  than 
anything  he  ever  heard  at  church.  He  thought  they  were 
Easter  hymns  ;  but  since  one  evening  in  last  October  he 
has  never  heard  them,  although  he  has  often  listened, 
Nearly  a  year  since  now  ! 

Yet  nothing  can  silence  those  resurrection  hymns  in  his 
heart ! 

Aunt  Cotta's  great  comfort  is  the  holy  sacrament. 
Nothing,  she  says,  lifts  up  her  heart  like  that.  Other 
symbols,  or  writings,  or  sermons  bring  before  her,  she  saysi 
some  part  of  truth ;  but  that  the  Holy  Supper  brings  the 
Lord  himself  before  her;  not  one  truth  about  him,  or 
another,  but  himself ;  not  one  act  of  his  holy  life  alone, 
nor  even  his  atoning  death,  but  his  very  person,  human 
and  divine ;  himself  living,  dying,  conquering  death,  freely 
bestowing  life.  She  has  learned  that  to  attend  that  holy 
sacrament  is  not  as  she  once  thought  to  perform  a  good 
work,  which  always  left  her  m.ore  depressed  than  before 
with  the  feeling  how  unworthily  and  coldly  she  had  done 
it ;  but  to  look  oiF  from  self  to  him  who  finished  the  good 
work  of  redemption  for  us.     As  Dr.  Melancthon  says, — 

"  Just  as  looking  at  the  cross  is  not  the  doing  of  a  good 
\*  ork,  but  simply  contemplating  a  sign  which  recalls  tc  us 
the  death  of  Christ ; 

"  Just  as  looking  at  the  sun  is  not  the  doing  of  a  good 
work,  but  simply  contemplating  a  sign  which  recalls  to  u» 
Christ  and  his  Gospel ; 

"So  particii-ating  at  the  Lord's  siipper  is  not  the  doin? 
of  a  good  work,  but  simply  the  making  use  of  a  sign  whicl 
brings  to  mind  the  grace  that  has  been  bestowed  on  us  b] 
Christ." 

"But  here  lies  tL«  difference;  symbols  discovered  bj 


EVA 'S  STORT 


4»9 


man  simply  recall  what  they  signify,  .vhereas  the  signa 
giveu  by  God  not  only  recall  the  things,  but  further  assure 
the  heart  with  respect  to  the  will  of  God." 

"As  the  sight  of  a  cross  does  not  justify,  so  the  mass 
does  not  justify.  As  the  sight  of  a  cross  is  not  a  sacrifice, 
either  for  our  sins  or  for  the  sins  of  others,  so  the  mass  is 
not  a  sacrifice." 

"  There  is  but  one  sacrifice,  there  is  but  or.e  tsatisfactioii 
— Jesus  Christ.  Beyond  him  there  is  nothing  of  the 
kind." 

I  have  been  trying  constantly  to  find  a  refuge  for  the 
nine  evangelical  nuns  I  left  at  Nimptschen,  but  hitherto  in 
vain.  I  do  not,  however,  by  any  means  despair.  I  have 
advised  them  now  to  write,  themselves,  to  Dr.  Luther. 

OctoUr,  152a 

THE  German  New  Testament  is  published  at  last. 
On  September  the  21st  it  appeared ;  and  that  day, 
happening  to  be  Aunt  Cotta's  birthday,  when  she  came 
down  among  us  in  the  morning,  Gottfried  Reuchenbach 
met  her,  and  presented  her  with  two  large  folio  volumes  in 
which  it  is  printed,  in  the  name  of  the  whole  fiimily. 

Since  then  one  volume  always  lies  on  a  table  iii  the 
general  sitting-room,  and  one  in  the  window  of  Aunt 
Cotta's  bedroom. 

Often  now  she  comes  down  in  the  morning  with  abeam- 
ing  face,  and  tells  us  of  some  verse  she  has  discovered. 
Uncle  Cotta  calls  it  her  diamond-mine,  and  fiays,  "  Tha 
little  mother  has  found  the  E.  Dorado  after  all  I" 

"  One  morning  it  was, — 

"  Cast  all  your  care  on  him,  for  he  careth  for  y-ou /'  and 
that  lasted  her  many  days. 

To-day  it  waH, — 

"Tribulation  worketh  patience;  and  patience  eipeh- 
ence ;  and  experience,  hope ;  and  hope  maketh  not  ashwn 


420 


TEE  SOSdNBERG-OOTTA  FAMILY 


eti ;  because  the  love  of  God  is  slied  abroad  m  our  iieart* 
by  the  Holy  Ghost,  which  is  given  unto  vis."'  "E^a,"  she 
said,  "That  seems  to  me  so  simple.  It  seems  to  me  to 
mean,  that  when  sorrow  comes,  then  tlie  great  thing  we 
have  to  do  is,  to  see  that  we  do  not  lose  hold  of  patience 
she  seems  linked  to  all  the  other  graces,  and  to  lead  them 
naturally  into  the  heart,  hand  in  hand,  one  by  one.  Eva, 
dear  child,"  she  added,  "  is  that  wiiat  is  meant  ?" 

I  said  how  often  those  words  had  cheered  me,  and  how 
happy  it  is  to  think  that  all  the  while  these  graces  illumin 
ing  the  darkness  of  the  heart,  the  dark  hours  are  passing 
away,  until  all  at  once  hope  steals  to  the  casement  and 
withdraws  the  shutters ;  and  the  light  which  has  slowly 
been  dawning  all  the  time,  streams  into  the  heart,  "the 
love  of  God  shed  abroad  by  the  Holy  Ghost." 

"  But,"  rejoined  Aunt  Cotta,  "  we  cannot  ourselves  bring 
\\\  experience,  or  reach  the  hand  of  hope,  or  open  the  win- 
dow to  let  in  the  light  of  love ;  we  can  only  look  up  to  God, 
keep  firm  hold  of  patience,  and  she  luill  bring  all  the  rest.'''' 

"And  yet,"  I  said,  "  peace  comes  before  patience,  peace 
with  God  through  faith  in  him  who  was  delivered  for  our 
offence.  All  these  graces  do  not  lead  us  up  to  God. 
We  have  access  to  him  first,  and  in  his  presence  we  learn 
the  rest." 

Yes,  indeed,  the  changes  in  the  Wittenberg  world  since 
I  left  it,  have  been  wrought  by  the  hand  of  life  and  not  by 
that  of  death,  or  time,  which  is  his  shadow.  For  have 
not  the  brightest  been  Avrought  by  the  touch  of  the  Life 
himself? 

It  is  God,  not  time,  that  has  mellowed  our  grandmother's 
character ;  it  is  God  and  not  time  that  has  smoothed  the 
care-worn  wrinkles  from  Aunt  Cotta's  brow. 

It  is  life  and  not  death  that  has  all  but  emptied  the  Angus- 
tinian  con\ent,  sending  the  monks  back  to  their  places  ii 
the  world,  to  serve  God  and  proclaim  his  GospeL 


THEKLA'S  SrORT. 


4" 


It  is  tlie  water  of  life  that  is  flowing  tbrcugli  Lome  aftei 
lome  in  the  channel  of  Dr.  Lutlier's  German  Testament, 
BJid  bringing  forth  fruits  of  love,  and  joy,  and  peace. 

And  we  know  it  is  life  and  not  death  which  is  reigning 
in  that  lonely  prison,  wherein  the  child  heard  the  resurreO' 
tion  hymns,  and  that  is  triumj^hing  now  in  the  heart  of 
liim  who  sang  them,  wherever  he  may  be ! 


THEKLA'S   STORY. 

October,  1522. 

ONCE  more  the  letters  come  I'egularly  from  Flanders; 
and  in  most  ways  tlieir  tidings  are  joyful.  Nowhere 
throughout  the  world,  Bertrand  writes,  does  the  evangeli- 
cal doctrine  find  such  an  eager  reception  as  there.  The 
people  in  the  great  free  cities  have  been  so  long  accus- 
tomed to  judge  for  themselves,  and  to  speak  their  mind 
freely.  The  Augustinian  monks  who  studied  at  Witten- 
berg, took  back  the  Gospel  witli  tliem  to  Antwerp,  and 
preached  it  openly  in  tlieir  cluirch,  which  became  so 
thronged  with  eager  hearers,  that  numbers  had  to  listen 
outside  the  doors.  It  is  true,  Bertrand  says,  that  the  Prior 
and  one  or  two  of  the  monks  have  been  arrested,  tried  at 
Brussels,  and  silenced ;  but  the  rest  continue  undauntedly 
to  preach  as  before,  and  the  effect  of  the  persecution  ha» 
been  only  to  deepen  the  interest  of  the  citizens. 

The  great  new  event  which  is  occupying  us  all  now 
however,  '  the  publication  of  Dr.  Luther's  New  Testa 
ment.  Chriemhild  writes  that  it  is  the  greatest  boon  ^> 
her,  because  being  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  say  much,  she 
simply  reads,  and  the  peasants  seem  to  understand  thai 
book  better  than  anything  she  can  say  about  it ;  or  even, 
if  at  any  time  they  come  to  anything  which  perplexes 
them,  they  generally  find   that  by  simply  reading  on  H 


4*2 


iJiE  SCUONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


grows  quite  clear.  Also,  she  writes,  Ulrich  reads  it  ever^ 
evening  to  all  tlie  servants,  and  it  seems  to  bind  the  house- 
hold together  wonderfully.  They  feel  that  at  last  they 
have  found  something  mestimably  precious,  which  is  yet 
no  "  privilege''  of  mar  or  class,  but  the  common  property 
of  all. 

In  many  fomilies  at  Wittenberg  the  book  is  daily  read, 
for  there  are  few  of  those  who  can  read  at  all  who  cannot 
aftbrd  a  copy,  since  the  price  is  but  a  florin  and  a  half. 

New  hymns  also  are  beginning  to  spring  up  among  us 
We  are  no  more  living  on  the  echo  of  old  songs.  A  few 
days  since  a  stranger  from  the  north  sang  before  Dr 
Luther's  windows,  at  the  Augustinian  convent,  a  hymn 
beginning, — 

"  Es  ist  das  Heil  uus  kommen  her. 

Dr.  Luther  desired  that  it  might  be  sung  again.  It  was 
a  response  from  Prussia  to  the  glad  tidings  which  have 
gone  forth  far  and  wide  through  his  words !  He  said  "  he 
thanked  God  with  a  full  heart." 

The  delight  of  having  Eva  among  us  once  more  is  so 
great.  Her  presence  seems  to  bring  peace  with  it.  It  is 
not  what  she  says  or  does,  but  what  she  is.  It  is  more 
like  the  eifect  of  music  than  anything  else  I  know.  A 
quiet  seems  to  come  over  one's  heart  from  merely  being 
with  her.  No  one  seems  to  fill  so  little  space,  or  make  so 
little  noise  in  the  world  as  Eva,  when  she  is  there ;  and 
yet  when  she  is  gone,  it  is  as  if  the  music  and  the  light  had 
passed  from  the  place.  Everything  about  l.hv  always 
seems  so  in  tune.  Her  soft,  quiet  voice,  her  gentle,  noise- 
less movements,  her  delicate  features,  the  soft  curve  of  her 
cheek,  those  dee]:)  loving  eyes,  of  which  one  never  seema 
able  to  remember  anything  but  that  Eva  her?elf  looks 
llirough  them  into  your  heart. 

AU  so  different  from  mo,  wko  can  scarcely  ever  corae 


THEKLA'S  STOP,'*'.  423 

Lnto  a  loom  ■vsithont  upsetting  sometliing,  or  disarranging 
Bome  person,  and.  can  never  enter  on  a  conversation  with- 
out upsetting  some  one's  prejudices,  or  grating  on  some 
one's  feelings. 

It  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  God  did  indeed  lead 
Eva,  as  tlie  Psalm  says,  by  his  eye ;  as  if  he  had  trained 
her  to  •what  she  is  by  the  direct  teaching  of  his  gracious 
voice,  instead  of  by  the  rough  training  of  circumstances. 
And  nevertheless,  she  never  makes  me  feel  her  hopelessly 
above  me.  The  light  is  not  like  a  star  ;  which  makes  one 
feel  "  how  peaceful  it  must  be  there,  in  these  heights,"  but 
brings  little  light  upon  our  path.  It  is  like  a  lowly  sun- 
beam coming  down  among  us,  and  making  us  warm  and 
})right. 

She  always  makes  mc  think  of  the  verse  about  the  saint 
who  %vas  translated  silently  to  heaven,  because  he  had 
"  walked  with  God.''     Yes,  I  am  sure  that  is  her  secret. 

Only  I  have  a  malicious  feeling  that  I  should  like  to  see 
'ier  for  once  thoroughly  tossed  out  of  her  calm,  just  to  be 
quite  sure  it  is  God's  peace,  and  not  some  natural  or 
faiiy  gift,  or  a  stoical  impassiveness  from  the  "  Theologia 
Teutsch."  Sometimes  I  fancy  for  an  instant  whether  it  is 
uot  a  little  too  much  with  Eva,  as  if  she  were  "  translated  " 
already ;  as  if  she  had  passed  to  (he  other  side  of  the  deep- 
est earthly  joy  and  soi'row,  at  least  as  regards  herself. 
Certainly  she  has  not  as  regards  others.  Iler  sympathy  is 
ind'^.ed  no  condescending  alms,  flung  from  the  other  side 
jf  the  flood,  no  pitying  glance  cast  down  on  grief  she 
feels,  but  could  never  share.  Have  I  not  seen  her  lip 
quiver,  when  I  spoke  of  the  dangers  around  Bertrand, 
even  when  my  voice  was  firm,  and  felt  her  tears  on  mj 
face  when  she  drew  me  4  >  her  heart  ? 


4.24  r/zj?  sceGnbero-cotta  family. 

Decemler,  1522. 

^'^IIAT  question  at  last  is  answcved !  I  have  seen 
Cousin  Eva  moved  out  of  lier  calm,  and  feel  at  last 
quite  sure  she  is  not  "  translated  "  yet.  Yesterday  even, 
ing  we  were  all  sitting  in  the  family-room.  Our  grand- 
mother was  dozing  by  the  stove.  Eva  and  my  mother 
were  busy  at  the  table,  helphig  Atlantis  in  prepai'ing  the 
dresses  for  her  wedding,  which  is  to  be  early  in  next  year. 
I  was  reading  to  my  lather  from  Dr.  Melancthon's  new 
book,  "  The  Common  Places,"  which  all  learned  people  say 
is  so  much  more  elegant  and  beautifully  written  than  Dr. 
Luther's  works,  but  which  is  to  me  like  a  composed  book, 
and  not  like  all  Dr.  Luther's  writings,  a  voice  from  the 
depths  of  a  heart.  I  was  feeling  like  my  grandmother,  a 
little  sleepy,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  atmosphere  around  us 
Beemed  drowsy  and  still,  when  our  little  maid,  Lottchen, 
ojicned  the  door  with  a  frightened  expression,  and  before 
i\\Q  could  say  anything,  a  pale,  tall  man  stood  there.  Only 
Eva  and  I  were  looking  towai'ds  the  door.  I  could  not 
think  who  it  was,  until  a  low  startled  voice  exclaimed 
"  Fritz,''  and  looking  round  at  Eva,  I  saw  she  had 
fainted. 

In  another  instant  he  was  kneeling  beside  her,  lavishing 
every  tender  name  on  her,  while  my  mother  stood  on  the 
other  side,  holding  the  unconscious  form  in  her  arms,  and 
sobbing  out  Fritz's  name. 

Our  dear  father  stood  up,  asking  bsAvildered  questions — 
our  grandmother  awoke,  and  rubbing  her  eyes,  surveyed 
the  whole  group  with  a  puzzled  expression,  murmurmg, — 

"Is  it  a  dream?  Or  are  the  Zwickau  prophets  right 
after  all,  and  is  it  the  I'esurrection  ?" 

But  no  one  seemed  to  remember  that  tears  and  endear- 
lug  woids  and  bewildered  exclamations  ware  not  likely 
to  restore  any  one  from  a  faintmg  fit,  until  to  my  great 
satisfaction  our  good  motherly  Else  appeared  at  "Jie  door, 


THEKLA'S  STORY,  425 

sajiiig,  "  What  is  it?  Lottchen  ran  over  to  tell  me  she 
thought  there  were  thieves." 

Then  comprehendiug  everything  at  U  glance,  she  dipped 
a  handkei'cliief  in  water,  and  bathed  Eva's  brow,  and 
f:3nned  her  with  it  until  in  a  few  minutes  she  awoke  with 
a  short  sobbing  breath,  and  in  a  little  while  her  eyes 
oi>ened  and  as  they  rested  on  Fritz,  a  look  of  the  most 
perfect  rest  came  over  her  face,  she  placed  her  other  hand 
on  the  one  he  held  already,  and  closed  her  eyes  again.  I 
saw  great  tears  falling  under  the  closed  eyelids.  Then 
looking  up  again  and  seeing  my  mother  benduig  over  her, 
she  drew  down  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  Fritz's,  and  we  left 
those  three  alone  together. 

When  wc  were  all  safely  in  the  next  room,  we  all  by  one 
mpulse  began  to  weep.     I  sobbed, — 

"  He  looks  so  dreadfully  ill.  I  think  they  have  all  but 
murdered  him."     And  Else  said, — 

"  She  has  exactly  the  same  look  on  her  face  that  came 
over  it  when  she  was  recovering  from  the  plague,  and  he 
stood  motionless  beside  her,  with  that  rigid,  hopeless  tran- 
quillity on  his  face,  just  before  he  left  to  be  a  monk.  What 
will  happen  next  ?" 

And  my  grandmother  said,  in  a  feeble,  broken  voice, — 

"  He  looks  just  as  your  grandfather  did  when  lie  took 
leave  of  me  in  prison.  Indeed,  sometimes  I  am  quite  con- 
fused in  mind.  It  seems  as  if  things  were  coming  over 
again.  1  can  hardly  make  out  whether  it  is  a  dream,  or  a 
ghost,  or  a  resurrection." 

Our  father  onlv  did  not  join  in  our  tears.  He  said  what 
was  very  much  wiser. 

"  Children,  the  greatest  joy  our  house  has  known  since 
Fritz  left  has  come  to  it  to-day.  Let  us  give  God  tlianks." 
And  we  all  stood  around  him  while  he'  took  the  little  vel- 
vet cap  from  liis  bald  head  and  thanked  God,  while  we  all 
wept  out  o^oT  i^men.     After  that  we  grew  calmer;  the 


4.26  THE  SCITONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

overwhelming  tumult  of  feeling,  in  which  we  could  scarcely 
tell  joy  fi'om  sorrow,  passed,  and  Ave  began  to  understand 
it  Avas  indeed  a  great  joy  Avhich  had  been  given  to  us. 

Then  we  heard  a  little  stir  in  the  house,  and  my  mother 
summoned  us  back ;  but  we  found  her  alone  with  Fritz, 
and  Avould  insist  on  his  submitting  to  an  unlimited  amount 
cf  family  caresses  and  welcomes. 

"  Come,  Fritz,  and  assm-e  our  grandmother  that  you  are 
alive,  and  that  you  have  never  been  dead,"  said  Else. 
And  then  her  eyes  filled  Avith  tears,  she  added,  "  "What 
you  must  have  suifered !  If  I  had  not  remembered  you 
before  you  rcceiA'ed  the  tonsure,  I  should  scarcely  have 
knoAvn  you  noAV  Avith  your  dark,  long  beard  and  your 
Avhite,  thin  face." 

"  Yes,"  observed  Atlantis  in  the  deliberate  Avay  in  Avliich 
she  usually  announces  her  discoveries,  "  no  doubt  th.is  is 
the  reason  Avhy  Eva  recognised  Fritz  before  Thekla  did, 
although  they  Avere  both  facing  the  door,  and  must  have 
seen  him  at  the  same  tune.  She  remembered  him  before 
he  received  the  tonsure." 

We  all  smiled  a  little  at  Atlantis'  discoA-ery,  Avhereupon 
she  looked  up  Avith  a  bcAvildered  expression,  and  said, 
"  Do  you  think,  then,  she  did  not  recognize  him  ?  I  did 
not  think  of  that.  Probably,  then,  she  took  him  for  a 
thief,  like  Lottchen !" 

Fritz  v/as  deep  in  convereation  Avith  our  mother,  and 
was  not  heeding  us,  but  Else  laughed  softly  as  she  patt«l 
Atlantis'  hand,  and  said, — 

"Conrad  Winkelried  must  haA^e  expressed  himself  very 
plainly,  sister,  before  yon  understood  him." 

"He  did,  sister  Else,"  replied  Atlantis,  gravely.  "But 
w'hat  has  that  to  do  Avith  Eva  ?" 

When  I  went  up  to  our  room,  Eva's  and  mine,  I  found 
her  kneeling  by  the  bed.  In  a  few  minutes  she  rose,  an^ 
clasping  rao  in  her  arms,  she  said, — 


TffEKLA'S  STOUT. 


4»7 


"God  is  very  good,  Tliekla.  I  have  beficved  that  so 
long,  but  never  half  enough  until  to-night." 

I  saw  that  she  had  been  weeping,  but  the  old  calm  had 
come  back  to  her  face,  only  with  a  little  more  sunshine  on 
It. 

Then,  as  if  she  feared  to  be  forgetting  others  in  her  own 
happiness,  she  took  my  hand,  and  said, — 

"  Dear  Thekla,  He  is  leading  us  all  through  all  the  dark 
days  to  the  morning.  "We  must  never  distrust  him  any 
more. 

And  without  saying  another  word  we  retired  to  rest. 
In  the  morning  when  I  woke  Eva  was  sitting  beside  me 
with  a  lamp  on  the  table,  and  the  large  Latin  Bible  open 
before  her.  I  watched  her  face  for  some  time.  It  looked 
so  pare,  and  good,  and  happy,  with  that  expression  on  il 
which  always  helped  me  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
the  words,  "  child  of  God,  "  little  children,"  as  Dr.  Melano- 
thon  says  our  Lord  called  his  disciples  just  before  he  left 
them.  There  was  so  much  of  the  unclouded  trustfulness 
of  the  "  child "  in  it,  and  yet  so  much  of  the  peace  and 
depth  which  are  of  God. 

After  looking  at  her  a  little  while  she  closed  the  Bible, 
and  began  to  alter  a  dress  of  mine  which  she  had  promised 
to  prepare  for  Christmas.  As  she  was  sewing,  she  hum- 
med  softly,  as  she  was  accustomed,  some  strains  of  old 
church  music.     At  length  I  said, — 

"  Eva,  how  old  were  you  when  Fritz  became  a  monk  ?" 

" Sixteen,"  she  said  softly;  "he  went  away  just  after 
th«  plague." 

"  Tlien  you  have  been  separated  twelve  long  years,"  i 
ftid.  "  God,  then,  sometimes  exercises  patience  a  long 
irhile." 

"  It  does  not  seem  long  now,"  she  said  ;  "  we  both  be 
levied  we  were  separated  by  God,  and  separated  for  evet 
on  earth  '* 


428  THE  8CU0NBERO-C0TTA  FAMILT 

"Poor  Eva,"  I  said;  "and  this  was  the  soi  row  which 
helped  to  inalce  you  so  good." 

"I  did  not  know  it  had  been  so  great  a  sorrow,  Thekla," 
bIic  said  with  a  quivering  voice,  "  until  last  night." 

"  Then  you  had  loved  each  other  all  that  time/'  I  said, 
Lalf  to  myself. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  But  I  neve? 
knew  till  yesterday  how  much." 

After  a  short  silence  she  began  again,  ivith  a  smile. 

"  Thekla,  lie  thinks  me  unchanged  during  all  those  years 
me,   the   matron   of   the   novices !     But,    oh,  how   he   ia 
changed !    Wliat  a  life-time  of  suffering  on  his  face !    How 
they  must  have  made  him  suffer  !" 

"  God  gives  it  to  you  as  your  life-work  to  restore  and 
help  him,"  I  said.  "  O  Eva,  it  must  be  the  best  woman's 
lot  in  tlie  world  to  bind  up  for  the  dearest  on  earth  the 
wounds  which  men  have  inflicted  because  he  loved  God 
best.  It  must  be  joy  unutterable  to  receive  back  from 
God's  own  hands  a  love  you  have  both  so  dearly  proved 
you  were  ready  to  sacrifice  for  him." 

"  Your  mother  thinks  so  too,"  she  said.  '■  She  said  last 
night  the  vows  which  would  bind  us  together  would  be 
holier  than  any  ever  uttered  by  saint  or  hermit." 

"Did  our  mother  say  that?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Eva.  "  And  she  said  she  was  sui*^  Dr. 
Luther  would  think  so  also." 

FRITZ'S  STORY. 

Decemler  31,  1523. 

WE  are  oetrothed.  Solemnly  in  tlie  presence  of  out" 
family  and  friends  Eva  has  promised  to  be  my 
wife ;  and  m  a  few  weeks  we  are  to  be  married.  Our 
home  (at  all  events,  at  first)  is  to  be  in  the  Thuringian 
forest,  ia  the  parsonage  belonging  to  Ulrich  von  Gei  sdorf* 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  425 

eaetle,  Tlie  old  p'K  ot  is  too  aged  to  do  any  tiling.  Chriem. 
hild  lias  set  her  bean  on  having  us  to  reform  the  peasantry 
and  they  all  belie^-e  the  quiet  and  the  pure  air  of  the  forest 
will  restore  my  health,  which  has  been  i-ather  shattered  by 
all  I  bare  gone  through  during  these  last  mouths,  although 
not  as  much  as  they  think.  I  feel  strong  enough  for  any- 
tiling  already.  What  I  have  lost  during  all  those  years  in 
being  separated  from  her  !  How  poor  and  one-sided  my 
life  has  been!  How  strong  the  rest  her  presence  gives 
me,  makes  me  to  do  whatever  work  God  may  gi\  e  me  ! 

Amazing  blasphemy  on  God  to  assert  that  the  order  in 
which  he  has  founded  human  life  is  disorder,  thai  the  love 
which  the  Son  of  God  compares  to  the  relation  between 
himself  and  his  Church  sullies  or  lowers  the  heart. 

Have  these  years  then  been  lost  ?  Have  I  wandered 
away  wilful  and  deluded  from  the  lot  of  blessing  God  had 
appointed  me,  since  that  terrible  time  of  the  plague,  at 
Eisenach  ?  Have  all  these  been  wasted  years  ?  Has  all 
the  suffering  been  fruitless,  unnecessary  pain  ?  And,  after 
all,  do  I  return  with  precious  time  lost  and  strength  dimin- 
ished just  to  the  point  I  might  have  reached  so  long  ago  ? 

For  E\a  1  am  ceitain  this  is  not  so ;  every  step  of  her 
way,  the  loving  hand  has  led  her.  Did  not  the  convent 
through  her  become  a  home  or  a  Avay  to  the  Paternal  Home 
to  many  ?  But  for  me  ?  No,  for  me  also  the  years  have 
brought  more  than  they  have  taken  away.  Those  who  are 
to  help  the  perplexed  and  toiling  men  of  their  time,  must 
first  go  down  into  the  conflicts  of  their  time.  Is  it  not  this 
which  makes  even  ^Martin  Luther  the  teacher  of  our 
nation  ?  Is  it  not  this  which  qualifies  weak  and  sinful  men 
to  be  preachers  of  the  Gospel  instead  of  angels  from 
heaven  ? 

The  holy  angels  sang  on  their  heavenly  heights  the  glad 
lidings  of  great  joy,  but  the  shepherds,  and  fishermen,  and 
the  publican  gpoko  it  in  the  homes  of  men !     The  angel 


jjo  THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

who  libo.rated  the  apostles  from  prison  said,  as  if  sponta 
neously,  from  the  fuhiess  of  his  heart,  "  Go  speak  to  the 
people  the  words  of  this  lifc''^  But  the  trembling  lips  of 
Peter  who  had  denied,  and  Thomas  who  had  doubted,  and 
J  ohn  who  had  misunderstood,  were  to  speak  the  life-giving 
words  to  men,  denying,  doubting,  misconceiving  men,  to 
tell  what  they  knew,  and  how  the  Saviour  could  forgive. 

The  voice  that  had  been  arrested  in  cowardly  curses  by 
the  look  of  divine  pardoning  love,  had  a  tone  in  it  the 
Archangel  Michael's  could  never  have  ! 

And  when  the  Pharisees,  hardest  of  all,  were  to  be 
reached,  God  took  a  Pharisee  of  the  Pharisees,  a  blasphe- 
mer, a  persecutor,  one  who  could  say,  "  I  might  also  havo 
confidence  in  the  flesh,  I  persecuted  the  Church  of  God." 

Was  David's  secret  contest  in  vain,  when  slaying  llie 
lion  and  the  bear,  to  defend  those  i'ew  sheep  in  the  wilder- 
ness,  he  proved  the  weapons  with  which  he  slew  Goliath 
and  rescued  the  hosts  of  Israel  ?  Were  Martin  Luther's 
years  in  the  convent  at  Erfurt  lost  ?  Or  have  they  not 
been  the  school-days  of  his  life,  the  armory  where  hia 
weapons  were  forged,  the  gymnasium  in  which  his  eye  and 
hand  were  trained  for  the  battle-field  ? 

He  has  seen  the  monasteries  from  within ;  he  has  felt 
the  monastic  life  from  within.  He  can  say  of  all  these  ex- 
ternal rules,  "  I  have  proved  them,  and  found  them  power- 
less  to  sanctify  the  heart."  It  is  this  which  gives  the  irre- 
sistible power  to  his  speaking  and  writing.  It  is  this 
which  by  God's  grace  enables  him  to  translate  the  Epistlea 
of  St.  Paul  the  Pharisee  and  Apostle  as  he  has  done.  The 
truths  had  been  translated  by  the  Holy  Spirit  into  the  lan- 
guage of  his  experience,  and  graven  on  his  heart  Icng  be- 
fore ;  so  that  in  rendering  the  Greek  into  German  Le  alsc 
testified  of  things  he  had  seen,  and  the  Bible  from  his  pen 
reads  as  if  it  had  been  originally  writt€u  in  Genoan,  foy 
Ibe  German  people. 


EVA'S  STOUT.  4j: 

To  me  also  in  ray  measure  these  years  have  not  beesi 
time  lost.  There  are  many  truths  that  one  only  learns  ic 
their  fulness  by  proving  the  bitter  bondage  of  the  errorg 
they  contradict. 

P<n-haps  also  we  shall  help  each  other  and  otheis  around 
us  better  for  having  been  thus  trained  apart.  I  used  to 
dream  of  the  joy  of  leading  her  into  life.  But  now  God 
gives  her  back  to  me  enriched  with  all  those  years  of  sepa- 
rate experience,  not  as  the  Eva  of  childhood,  when  I  saw 
her  last,  but  ripened  to  perfect  womanhood  ;  not  merely  to 
reflect  my  thoughts,  but  to  blend  the  fulness  of  her  life 
with  mine. 

EVA'S  STORY. 

■Wittenberg,  January,  1525. 

HOW  little  idea  I  had  how  the  thought  of  Fritz  Avas 
interwoven  with  all  my  life!  He  says  he  knew 
only  too  well  how  the  thought  of  me  was  bound  up  with 
every  hope  and  affection  of  his  ! 

But  he  contended  against  it  long.  He  said  that  conflict 
was  far  more  agonizing  than  all  he  suffered  in  the  prison 
since.  Fot  many  years  he  thought  it  sin  to  think  of  me. 
I  never  thought  it  sin  to  think  of  him.  I  was  sure  it  was 
not,  whatever  ray  confessor  might  say.  Because  I  had 
always  thanked  God  more  than  for  anything  else  in  the 
world,  for  all  he  had  been  to  be,  and  had  tauglit  me,  and  I 
felt  so  sure  what  I  could  thank  God  for,  could  not  be 
wrong. 

But  now  it  is  duty  to  love  him  best.  Of  that  I  am  quito 
Bure.  And  certainly  it  is  not  difticult.  My  only  fear  is? 
that  he  will  be  disappointed  in  me  when  he  learns  just 
what  I  am,  day  by  day,  with  all  the  halo  of  distance  gone. 
And  yet  I  am  not  really  afraid.  Love  weaves  better  glo- 
'Ncs  than  the  mists  of  distance.     And  we  do  not  expect 


^3a  THE  8Cn6NBEUGG0TTA  FAMILY. 

miracles  from  each  other,  or  that  life  is  lo  be  Par.>  .«e. 
Only  the  unutterable  comfort  of  being  side  by  side  in  e--ery 
conflict,  trial,  joy,  and  supporting  each  other !  If  I  cau 
say  "  only  "  of  that !  For  I  do  believe  our  help  will  be 
mutual.  Far  weaker  and  less  wise  as  I  am  than  he  is,  with 
a  range  of  thought  and  experience  so  much  narrower,  and 
a  force  of  purpose  so  much  feebler,  I  feel  I  have  a  kind  oi 
strength  which  may  in  some  way,  at  some  times  even  help 
Fritz.  And  it  is  this  which  makes  me  see  the  good  of 
these  separated  years,  in  which  otherwise  I  might  have  lost 
so  much.  With  him  the  whole  world  seems  so  much  larger 
and  higher  to  me,  and  yet  during  these  years,  I  do  feel  God 
lias  taught  me  something,  and  it  is  a  happiness  to  have  a 
little  more  to  bring  him  than  I  could  have  had  in  my  early 
girlhood. 

It  was  for  my  sake,  then,  he  made  that  vow  of  leaving 
us  for  ever  ! 

And  Aunt  Cotta  is  so  happy.  On  that  evening  when  he 
returned,  and  we  three  were  left  alone,  she  said,  after  a 
few  minutes'  silence — 

"  Children,  let  us  all  kneel  down,  and  thank  God  that  he 
lias  given  me  the  desire  of  my  heart." 

And  afterwards  she  told  us  what  she  had  always  wished 
and  planned  for  Fritz  and  me,  and  how  she  had  thought 
his  abandoning  of  the  woi'ld  a  judgment  for  her  sins ;  but 
how  she  was  persuaded  now  that  the  curse  borne  for  ua 
was  something  infinitely  more  than  anything  she  coxild 
have  endured,  and  that  it  had  been  all  borne,  and  nailed  to 
the  bitter  cross,  and  rent  and  blotted  out  for  ever.  And 
cow,  she  said,  she  felt  as  if  the  last  shred  of  evil  were 
gone,  and  her  life  were  beginning  again  in  us — to  be 
blessed  and  a  blessing  beyond  her  utmost  dreams.  . 

Fritz  does  not  like  to  speak  much  of  what  he  suffered  in 
the  prison  of  that  Dominican  convent,  and  least  of  all  to 
me ;  because,  although  I  repeat  to  myself,  "  It  is  over  - 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


433 


rver  for  ever  !" — whenever  I  think  of  his  having  been  on 
the  dreadful  rack,  it  all  seems  present  again. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  escaping  the  very  night  they 
came  and  led  liim  in  for  examination  in  the  torture-chamber. 
And  after  that,  they  carried  him  back  to  prison,  and  seem 
to  have  left  him  to  die  there.  For  two  days  they  sent  hin. 
QO  food ;  but  then  the  young  monk  who  had  first  spoken 
to  him,  and  induced  him  to  come  to  the  convent,  managed 
to  steal  to  him  almost  every  day  Avith  food  and  water,  and 
lo\ing  words  of  sympathy,  until  his  strength  revi\ed  a 
little,  and  they  escaped  together  through  the  ojDening  he 
had  dug  in  the  wall  before  the  examination.  But  their 
escaj^e  was  soon  discovered,  and  they  had  to  hide  in  the 
caves  and  recesses  of  the  forest  for  many  v/eeks  before  they 
could  strike  across  the  country  and  find  their  way  to  Wit 
tenberg  at  last. 

But  ic  is  over  now.  And  yet  not  over.  He  who  suf- 
fered will  never  forget  the  suffering  faithfully  borne  for 
him.  And  the  prison  at  the  Dominican  convent  will  be  a 
fountain  of  strength  for  his  preaching  among  the  peasants 
in  the  Thuringian  Forest.  He  will  be  able  to  say,  "  God 
can  sustain  in  all  trials.  He  will  not  suffer  you  to  bo 
tempted  above  that  )'ou  are  able  to  bear.  J  know  it,  for  1 
have  proved  ity  And  I  think  that  will  help  him  better  to 
tr&nslate  the  Bible  to  the  hearts  of  the  poor,  than  even  tli* 
Greek  and  Hebrew  he  learned  at  Home  and  Tubingen. 

ELSE'S  STORY. 

ALL  our  little  world  is  in  such  a  tumult  of  thankful 
ness  and  joy  at  present,  that  I  think  I  am  the  only 
sober  person  left  in  it. 

The  dear  mother  hovers  around  her  two  lost  ones  with 
qmet  murmurs  of  content,  hke  a  dove  around  her  nest,  aud 
is  as  absorbed  as  if  slie  were  marrying  her  first  daughter, 
19 


^34  ^'SE  SCHONBERG-COT'iA  FAMILY. 

or  were  a  bride  herself,  instead  of  being  the  establishcil 
Bud  honored  grandmother  that  she  is.  Chriemhi.d  and  1 
might  find  it  difiicult  not  to  be  envious,  if  we  had  not  our 
own  j^rivate  consolations  at  home. 

Eva  and  Fritz  are  certainly  far  moie  reasonable,  and  in- 
stead of  regarding  the  whole  world  as  centering  in  tbeni, 
like  our  dear  mother,  appear  to  consider  themselves  made 
to  serve  the  whole  world,  which  is  more  Christian-like,  but 
must  also  have  its  limits.  I  cannot  but  feel  it  a  great 
blessing  for  them  that  they  have  Cliriemhild  and  Ulrich, 
and  more  especially  Gottfried  and  me,  to  look  after  their 
temporal  aftairs. 

For  instance,  house  linen.  Eva,  of  course  has  not  a 
piece ;  and  as  to  her  bridal  attire,  I  beliove  she  would  be 
content  to  be  married  in  a  nun's  robe,  or  in  the  peasant's 
dress  she  escaped  from  Nimptschen  in.  However,  I  have 
stores  which,  as  Gretchen  is  not  likely  to  require  them 
just  yet,  will,  no  doubt  answer  the  purpose.  Gretchen  is 
not  more  than  eight,  but  I  always  think  it  wcU  to  be  before- 
hand ;  and  my  maidens  had  already  a  stock  of  iinen  enough 
to  stock  several  chests  for  her,  w^hich,  under  the  circum- 
Btances,  seems  quite  a  special  providence. 

Gottfried  insists  upon  choosing  her  wedding  dress.  And 
my  mother  believes  her  own  ancestral  jewelled  head-dress 
with  the  pearls  (wliich  once  in  our  poverty  we  nearly  sold 
10  a  merchant  at  Eisenach)  has  been  especially  preserved 
k  r  Eva. 

It  is  well  that  Atlantis,  who  is  to  be  married  on  the  sam« 
iay,  is  the  meekest  and  most  unselfish  of  brides,  and  tha* 
tier  marriage  outfit  is  already  all  but  arranged. 

Chriemt.ild  and  Uh-ich  have  persuaded  tlie  eld  knight  to 
rebuild  the  parsonage ;  and  she  writes  what  a  delight  it  is 
io  Avatch  it  risi'.g  among  the  cottages  in 'the  village,  a!id 
ihmk  of  the  fountain  of  blessing  that  house  will  be  to  all 

Our  grandmother  insists  on  working  with   hor  dear 


EL8E\S  STORY. 


435 


feeble  Lands,  on  Eva's  ^vedding  stores,  and  has  lansacked 
her  scanty  remnants  of  former  splendour,  and  brought  out 
many  a  quaint  old  jewel  from  the  ancient  Schonberg 
treasures. 

Christopher  is  secretly  preparing  tliem  a  librr.ry  of  all 
Dr.  Luther's  and  Dr.  Melancthon's  books,  befiUtlfuUy 
bound,  and  I  do  not  know  how  many  learned  booki  be» 
Rides. 

And  the  melancholy  has  all  passed  from  Fri.i'.'  iace,  or 
only  remains  as  the  dejith  of  a  river  to  bru.ij;;  out  the 
sparkle  of  its  ripples. 

The  strain  seems  gone  from  Eva's  heart  and  his.  They 
both  seem  for  the  first  time  all  they  were  mear  t  to  be. 

Just  now,  however,  another  event  is  almost  equally  fill- 
ing our  grandmother's  heart. 

A  few  days  since,  Christopher  brought  in  tw  o  foreigners 
to  introduce  to  us.  When  she  saw  them,  her  work  drop- 
ped  from  her  hands,  and  half  rising  to  meet  them,  she 
said  some  words  in  a  language  strange  to  all  of  us. 

The  countenance  of  the  stranjcers  britihtened  a?,  she 
Bpoke,  and  they  replied  in  the  same  language 

After  a  few  minutes'  conversation,  our  grandmother 
turned  to  us,  and  said, — 

"  They  are  Bohemians — they  are  Hussite*,  They  know 
my  husband's  name.  The  truth  he  died  for  is  still  living 
in  my  country." 

The  rush  of  old  associations  was  too  much  for  her.  Her 
Jps  quivered,  the  tears  fell  slowly  ovor  her  cVeeks,  and  she 
could  not  say  another  word. 

The  strangers  consented  to  remain  under  my  father's 
roof  for  the  night,  and  told  us  tl'e  errand  which  brought 
them  to  Wittenberg. 

From  generation  to  generation,  since  John  IIuss  Avas 
martyred,  they  said,  the  truth  he  ta.igbt  h^d  bee  i  preserved 
in  Bohemia,  always  at  the  rifsk^  ar.ci  often  at  the  cost  o/ 


436  TEE  SCn&NBERO-CO'fTA  FAmLT. 

nfe.  Sometimes  it  had  perplexed  them  much  that  nowhera 
m  the  world  beside  could  they  hear  of  those  "who  believed 
the  same  truth.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  truth  of 
God  was  banished  to  their  mountain  fastnesses  ?  Like 
Elijah  of  old,  they  felt  disposed  to  cry  in  their  wilderness, 
« I,  only  I,  am  left." 

"  But  they  could  not  have  been  right  to  think  thus,"  said 
my  mother,  who  never  liked  the  old  religion  to  be  too 
much  reproached.  "  God  has  always  had  his  own  who 
have  loved  him,  in  the  darkest  days.  From  how  many 
convent  cells  have  pious  hearts  looked  up  to  him.  It  re- 
quires great  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  many  battles 
to  make  a  Luther ;  but,  I  think,  it  requires  only  to  touch 
the  hem  of  Christ's  garment  to  make  a  Christian." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gottfried,  opening  our  beloved  comments 
on  the  Galatians,  "  what  Dr.  Luther  said  is  true  indeed, 
'Some  there  Mere  in  the  olden  time  whom  God  called  by 
the  text  of  the  Gospel  and  by  baptism.  These  walked  in 
simplicity  and  humbleness  of  heart,  thinking  the  monks 
and  friars,  and  such  only  as  were  anointed  by  the  bishops, 
to  be  religious  and  holy,  and  themselves  to  be  profane  and 
secular,  and  not  worthy  to  be  compared  to  them.  "Where- 
fore, they  feeling  in  themselves  no  good  woi'ks  to  set 
against  the  wrath  and  judgment  of  God,  did  fly  to  the 
death  and  passion  of  Christ,  and  were  saved  in  this  sim- 
plicity.' " 

"No  doubt  it  was  so,"  said  the  Bohemian  deputies. 
"  But  all  this  was  hiddec  from  the  eye  of  man.  Twice  our 
fetners  sent  secret  messengers  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Christendom,  to  see  if  they  could  find  any  thai 
did  understand,  that  did  seek  after  God,  and  everywhere 
they  found  carelessness,  superstition,  darkness,  no  re- 
sponse." 

"  Ah,"  said  my  mother,  "  that  is  a  search  only  the  eye 
of  God  can  make.     Yet,  doubtless,  the  days  were  dark." 


ELSE'S  STORT.  437 

"They  carae  back  without  having  met  with  any  re- 
sponse," continued  tlie  strangevs,  "  and  again  our  fathers 
had  to  toil  and  sufler  on  alone.  And  now  the  sounds  of 
life  have  reached  us  in  our  mountain  solitudes  from  all  parts 
of  the  world ;  and  we  have  come  to  Wittenberg  to  heai 
the  voice  which  fiwoke  them  first,  and  to  claim  brother 
hood  with  the  evangelical  Christians  here.  Dr.  Luther  ha? 
welcomed  us,  and  we  return  to  our  mountains  to  tell  ouj 
people  that  the  morning  has  dawned  on  the  w^orld  at  kst.' 

The  evening  passed  in  happy  intercourse,  and  before  we 
separated,  Christopher  brought  his  lute,  and  we  all  sang 
together  the  hymn  of  John  Huss,  which  Dr.  Luther  has 
published  among  his  own: — 

"  Jesus  Christus  nostra  salus," 

Kid  afterwards  Luther's  own  glorious  liymn  in  Gertaan  :— 

"  Kun  freut  euch  lieben  Christen  gemein." 

Dear  Christian  people,  all  rejoice, 

Each  soul  with  joy  upspringing; 
Pour  forth  one  song  with  heart  and  Toioe, 

With  love  and  gladness  singing, 
Give  thanks  to  God,  our  Lord,  above^ 
Thanks  for  his  miracle  of  love ; 

Dearly  he  hath  redeemed  us  I 

The  devil's  captive  bound  I  lay, 

Lay  in  death's  chains  forlorn  ; 
My  sins  distressed  me  night  and  day— 

The  sin  within  me  born ; 
I  could  not  do  the  thing  I  wou»d, 
In  all  my  life  was  nothing  good, 

Sin  had  possessed  me  wholly. 

My  good  works  could  no  comfort  shfl^ 

Wortliless  must  they  be  rated  ; 
My  free  will  10  all  good  was  dead, 

And  God'g  just  judgments  hated. 


THE  SCEONBERQ.GOTTA  FAMILY, 

Me  of  all  hope  my  sins  bereft ; 
Nothing  but  deatli  to  m.i  was  left. 
And  death  was  hell's  dark  portaL 

Then  God  saw  with  deep  pity  moved 

My  grief  that  knew  no  measure 
Pitying  he  saw,  and  freely  loved, — 

To  save  me  was  his  pleasure. 
The  Father's  heart  to  me  was  stirred, 
He  saved  me  with  no  sovereign  word, 

Hie  very  best  it  cost  him. 

Hfl  spoke  to  his  beloved  Son 

With  infinite  compassion. 

Go  hence,  my  heart's  most  precioua  crafsea 

Be  to  the  lost  salvation ; 
Death,  his  relentless  tyrant  slay. 
And  bear  him  from  his  sins  away, 

With  thee  to  live  for  ever." 

Willing  the  Son  took  that  behest, 

Born  of  a  maiden  mother. 
To  his  own  earth  he  came  a  guest, 

And  made  himself  my  brother. 
All  secretly  he  went  his  way, 
Veiled  in  my  mortal  flesh  he  lay. 

And  thus  the  foe  he  vanquished. 

He  said  to  me,  "  Cling  close  to  me. 

Thy  sorrows  now  are  ending ; 
Freely  I  gave  myself  for  thee. 

Thy  life  with  mine  defending; 
For  I  am  thine,  and  thou  art  mine. 
And  where  I  am  there  thou  shalt  shioa^ 

The  foe  shall  never  reach  us. 


"  True,  he  wiU  shed  my  heart's  life 
And  torture  me  to  death 
All  this  I  suffer  for  thy  good, 
This  hold  with  firmest  faith. 
Death  dieth  through  my  life  divine; 
I  sinless  bear  those  sins  of  thine. 
And  so  shalt  thou  be  rescuad. 


ELSE'S  STORT.  ^^g 

*  I  rise  again  to  heaven  from  henea^ 

High  to  my  Fatlier  soaring, 
Thy  Master  there  to  be,  and  thence, 

My  Spirit  on  thee  pouring ; 
In  every  grief  to  comfort  thee, 
And  teach  thee  more  and  more  of  me 

Into  all  trutli  still  guidiug. 

*  What  I  have  done  and  taught  on  earth 

Do  thou,  and  teach,  none  dreading; 
That  83  God's  kingdom  may  go  forth, 

And  his  high  praise  be  spreading ; 
And  guard  thee  from  the  words  of  men, 
Lest  the  great  joy  be  lost  again ; 

Thus  my  last  charge  I  leave  thee." 

Aitei'wards,  at  our  mother's  especial  desire,  Eva  and 
Fritz  sang  a  Latiu  resurrection  hymn  from  the  olden  time* 

The  renewal  of  the  world 

Countless  new  joys  briDgc*h  fortl  • 

Christ  arising,  all  things  rise — 
Rise  with  him  from  earth. 

All  the  creatures  feel  their  Lord^ 

Feel  his  festal  liglit  outpoured. 

Fire  springs  up  with  motion  free. 

Breezes  wake  up  soft  and  fvarm, 
Water  flows  abundantly, 

Earth  remaineth  firm. 


*  Mundi  renovatio 

Nova  parit  gaudia, 
Besurgente  Domino 

Conresurgunt  omnia; 
Elementa  servinnt, 
Et  auctoris  sentiunt, 

Quanta  siut  solemnia, 

etc.       etc.       etc. 

Tbe  Iraualation  only  is  RiTen  alMVC. 


^40  TUE  8VH0NBEhO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

All  things  light  now  sky- ward  sou, 
Solid  things  are  rooted  more : 
All  things  are  made  new. 

Ocean  waves,  grown  tranquil,  lie 
Smiling  'neath  the  lieavciis  sereoo; 

All  the  air  breathes  light  and  fresh ; 
Our  valley  groweth  green. 

Verdure  clotlies  the  arid  plain, 

Frozen  waters  gush  again 
At  the  touch  of  spring. 

For  the  frost  of  death  is  melted, 
The  prince  of  this  world  lieth  low ; 

And  his  empire  strong  among  us. 
All  is  broken  now. 

Grasping  Him  in  whom  alone 

He  could  nothing  claim  or  own. 
His  domain  he  lost. 

Paradise  is  cow  regained, 

Life  has  vanquished  death; 
And  tlie  joys  lie  long  had  lost, 

Man  recovereth. 
The  ehonibini  at  God's  own  word 
Turn  aside  the  flaming  sword  ! 
The  long-lost  blessing  is  restored. 

The  closed  way  opened  free.* 

The  next  morning  the  strangers  left  us  ;  but  all  the  day 
owe  grandmother  sat  silent  and  tranquil,  with  her  hands 
clasj'Cd,  in  an  inactivity  very  unusual  with  her.  In  the 
evening,  when  we  had  assembled  again — as  we  all  do  now 
every  day  in  the  old  house — she  said  quietly,  "  Children, 
sing  to  me  the  '  Nunc  Dimittis."  God  has  fulfilled  every 
desire  of  my  heart ;  and,  if  he  willed  it,  I  should  like  to 
depart  in  peace  to  them,  my  dead.  For  I  know  they  live 
nnto  hira." 

Afterwards,  we  fell  into  conversation  about  the  past 

*  Adam  of  St.  Victor,  twelfth  century. 


ELiSE'S  STOUY. 

^.  was  the  eve  of  the  wedding-day  of  Eva  and  Fritz,  and 
Atlantis  and  Conrad.  And  we,  a  family  united  in  one 
faith,  naturally  sj^oke  together  of  the  various  ways  in  Avhich 
God  had  led  us  to  the  one  end. 

The  old  days  rose  up  before  me,  when  the  ideal  of  holi- 
ness had  towered  above  my  life,  grim  and  stony,  like  the 
fortress  of  the  Wartburg  (in  which  my  patroness  had 
lived),  above  the  streets  of  Eisenach  ;  and  M'hen  even 
Christ  the  Lord  seemed  to  me,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  "  a 
law-maker  giving  more  strait  and  heavy  commands  than 
IMoses  himself" — an  irrevocable,  unapproachable  Judge, 
enthroned  far  up  in  the  cold  spaces  of  the  sky ;  and 
heaven  like  a  convent,  with  very  high  walls,  peopled  by 
nuns  rigid  as  Aunt  Agnes.  And  then  the  change  v/hich 
came  over  all  my  heart  when  I  learned,  through  Dr.  Lu- 
ther's teaching,  that  God  is  love — is  our  Father;  that 
Christ  is  the  Saviour,  avIio  gave  himself  for  our  sins,  and 
loved  us  better  than  life ;  that  heaven  is  our  Father'g 
bouse  ;  that  holiness  is  simply  loving  God — who  is  so 
good,  and  who  has  so  loved  us,  and,  loving  one  another, 
that  the  service  Ave  have  to  render  is  simply  to  give  thanks 
and  to  do  good  ; — when,  as  Dr.  Luther  said,  that  Avord 
"  our  "  Avas  Avritten  deeply  in  my  heart — that  for  oin'  sins 
He  died — for  mine, — that  for  all,  for  us,  for  me,  He  gave 
himself. 

And  then  Fritz  told  us  hoAV  he  had  toiled  and  tormented 
himself  to  reconcile  God  to  him,  until  he  found,  through 
Dr.  Luther's  teaching,  that  our  sins  have  been  borne  aAvay 
by  the  Lamb  of  God — the  sacrifice  not  of  man's  gift,  bul 
of  God's  ;  "  that  in  that  one  person,  Jesus  Christ,  we  ha<! 
forgiveness  of  sins  and  eternal  life  ;"  that  God  is  to  us  a» 
the  father  to  the  prodigal  son — entreating  us  tc»  be  recon 
ciled  to  him.  And  he  told  us  also,  how  he  had  longed  fo". 
a  priest,  who  could  know  infallibly  all  his  heart,  and  secum 
him  from  the  deceitfulness  and  imperfectness  of  his  owv 
10* 


442  THE  SCnOirBERGCOTTA  VAMILr. 

confessions,  and  assure  him  that,  knowing  all  his  sin  to  its 

depths,  Avith  all  its  aggravations,  he  yet  pronounced  him 
absolved.  And  at  last  lie  had  fomid  that  Priest,  penetrat- 
ing to  the  depths  of  his  heart,  tracing  every  act  to  its 
motive,  every  motive  to  its  source,  and  yet  pronouncing  him 
absolved,  freely,  fully,  at  once — imposing  no  penance,  but 
fiiniply  ■Icsiring  a  life  of  thanksgiving  in  return.  "And 
this  Priest,"  he  added,  "  is  with  me  always  ;  I  make  my 
confession  to  him  every  evenmg,  or  oftener,  if  I  need  it; 
and  as  often  as  I  confess.  He  absolves,  and  bids  me  be  of 
good  courage — go  in  peace,  and  sin  no  more.  But  He  ia 
not  on  earth.  He  dwells  in  the  holy  of  holies,  which 
never  more  is  empty,  like  the  solitary  sanctuary  of  the 
old  temple  on  all  days  in  the  year  but  one.  He  ever 
liveth  to  make  intercession  for  us  !" 

Then  we  spoke  together  of  the  two  great  facts  Dr.  Liv 
ther  had  xinveiled  to  us  from  the  Holy  Scriptures,  that 
there  is  one  sacrifice  of  atonement,  the  sjiotless  Lamb  of 
God,  who  gave  himself  once  for  our  sins  ;  and  that  there 
is  but  one  priestly  Mediator,  the  Son  of  man  and  Son  of 
God ;  that,  in  consequence  of  this,  all  Christians  are  a 
holy  priesthood  to  offer  up  spiritual  sacrifices  ;  and  the 
feeblest  has  his  offering,  which,  through  Jesus  Christ,  God 
delights  to  accept,  having  first  accepted  the  sinner  himself 
in  the  Beloved. 

Our  mother  spoke  lo  us,  in  a  few  words,  of  the  dread- 
ful thoughts  she  had  of  God — pictdring  him  rather  as  the 
lightning  than  the  light ;  of  the  curse  which  she  feared 
was  lowering  like  a  thunder-cloud  over  her  life,  until  Dr. 
Luther  began  to  show  her  that  the  curse  has  been  borne 
for  us  by  Him  who  was  made  a  curse  for  us,  and  removed 
for  ever  from  all  who  trust  in  him.  "  And  then,"  she 
said,  "  the  Holy  Supper  taught  me  the  rest.  He  bore  for 
us  the  cross ;  he  spreads  for  us  the  feast.  We  have,  in- 
deed, the  cross  to  bear,  hut  never  more  the  curse ;  th« 


ELSE'S  STOBT. 


443 


cross  flora  man,  temptation  from  the  devil,  but  fron>  God 
nothing  but  blessing." 

But  Eva  said  she  cotJd  not  remember  the  time  wher 
slie  did  not  think  God  good  and  kind  beyond  all.  There 
were  many  other  things  in  religion  which  perplexed  her ; 
but  this  had  always  seemed  clear,  that  God  so  loved  the 
W'orld,  he  gave  his  Son.  And  she  had  always  hoped  that 
all  the  rest  would  be  clear  one  day  in  the  light  of  that 
love.  The  joy  which  Dr.  Luther's  writings  had  brought 
her  was,  she  thought,  like  seeing  the  stains  cleared  away 
from  some  beautiful  painting,  Avhose  beauty  she  had  known 
but  not  fully  seen — or  like  h.aving  a  misunderstanding  ex 
plained  about  a  dear  friend.  She  had  always  wondered 
about  the  hard  jienances  to  appease  One  who  Joved  so 
much,  and  the  many  mediators  to  approach  him  ;  and  it 
had  been  an  inexpressible  delight  to  find  that  these  were 
all  a  mistake,  and  that  access  to  God  was  indeed  open— 
tliat  the  love  and  the  sin,  and  life  and  death,  had  met  on 
trho  cross,  and  the  sin  had  been  blotted  out,  and  death 
swallowed  up  of  life. 

In  such  discourse  we  passed  the  eve  of  the  wedding- 
day. 

And  LOW  the  day  has  vanished  like  a  bright  vision  ;  our 
little  gentle  loving  Atlantis  has  gone  with  her  husband  to 
tlieir  distant  home,  the  bridal  crowns  arc  laid  aside,  and 
Eva  and  Fritz  in  their  sober  every-day  dress,  but  with  the 
crown  of  unfading  joy  in  their  hearts,  have  gone  together 
to  tbeir  lowly  work  in  the  forest,  to  make  one  more  of 
those  hallowed  pastor's  homes  which  are  springing  up 
now  in  the  villages  of  our  land. 

But  Gretchen's  linen-chest  is  likely  to  be  long  before  it 
can  be  stored  again.  We  have  just  received  tidings  of 
the  escape  of  Eva's  friends,  the  nine  nuns  of  Nimptschen, 
from  the  convent,  at  last!  They  wrote  to  Dr.  "Luthei. 
II  bo  interested  himself  much  in  seeking  asylums  for  thenx 


^4  THE  SCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

And  now  Master  Leonard  Kcppe  of  Torgau  has  brougTi'i 
llieni  safely  to  Wittenberg  concealed  in  his  beer  waggon. 
They  say  one  of  the  nuns  in  their  haste  left  her  slip])ei 
behind.  They  are  all  to  be  received  into  various  homes, 
and  Gottfried  and  I  arc  to  havs  the  care  of  Catherine  von 
Bora,  the  most  determined  and  courageous,  it  is  said,  of 
b11,  from  Avhose  cell  they  aftected  their  escape. 

I  have  been  busy  preparing  the  guest-chamber  fo3'  her, 
strewing  lavender  on  the  linen,  and.  trying  to  make  it 
home-like  for  the  young  maiden  who  is  banished  for  Christ's 
«ake  from  her  old  home. 

I  think  it  must  bring  blessings  to  any  home  to  have 
such  guests. 

June,  1523. 
^UR  guest,  the  noble  maiden  Catherine  von  Bora,  has 
arrived.  Grave  and  reserved  she  seems  to  be,  al- 
though Eva  spoke  of  her  as  very  cheerful,  and  light  aa 
well  as  firm  of  heart.  I  feel  a  little  afraid  of  her.  Her 
carriage  has  a  kind  of  majesty  about  it  which  makes  me 
offer  her  more  deference  than  sympathy.  Her  eyes  are 
dark  and  flashing,  and  her  forehead  is  high  and  calm. 

This  is  not  so  remarkable  in  me  who  was  always  easily 
appalled  by  dignified  persons  ;  but  even  Dr.  Luther,  it 
seems  to  me,  is  somewhat  awed  by  this  young  maiden. 
He  thinks  her  rather  haughty  and  reserved.  I  am  not 
siire  whether  it  is  pride  or  a  certain  maidenly  dignity. 

I  am  afraid  I  have  too  much  of  the  homely  burghei 
Cotta  nature  to  be  quite  at  ease  with  her. 

Our  grandmother  would  doubtless  have  understood  hci 
better  than  either  our  gentle  mother  or  I,  but  the  dear 
feeble  form  seems  to  have  been  gradually  failing  since  thai 
meeting  witb  the  emissaries  of  the  Bohemian  Church. 
8:D3e  the  wedding  she  has  not  once  left  her  bed.  Sne 
leeme  tc  live  more  than  ever  in  the  past,  and  calls  peopl« 


ELSE'S  STOUT. 


445 


by  the  names  she  knew  them  by  in  her  early  days,  speaking 
of  our  grandfather  as  "  Franz,"  and  calling  our  mothei 
"  Greta  "  instead  of  "  the  mother."  In  the  past  she  seems 
to  live,  and  in  that  glorious  present,  veiled  from  her  view 
by  so  thin  a  veil.  Towards  heaven  the  heart,  Avhose 
earthly  vision  is  closing,  is  as  open  as  ever.  I  sit  besidf 
her  and  read  the  Bible  and  Dr.  Luther's  books,  and  Gret 
>hen  says  to  her  some  of  the  new  German  hymnp,  Dr. 
Luther's,  and  his  translation  of  John  Huss's  hymns.  To- 
day she  made  me  read  again  and  again  this  passage, — 
"  Christian  faith  is  not,  as  some  say,  an  empty  husk  in  the 
heart  until  love  shall  quicken  it ;  but  if  it  be  true  faith, 
it  is  a  sure  trust  and  confidence  in  the  heart  whereby 
Christ  is  apprehended,  so  that  Christ  is  the  object  of 
faith  ;  yea,  rather  even.,  in  faith  Christ  himself  is  ]jresent. 
Faith  therefore  justifieth  because  it  apprehendeth  and  pos- 
sesseth  this  treasure,  Christ  present.  Wherefore  Christ 
apprehended  by  faith,  and  dwelling  in  the  heart,  is  the 
true  Christian  righteousness." 

It  is  strange  to  sit  in  the  old  house,  now  so  quiet,  "with 
our  dear  blind  father  down  stairs,  and  only  Tliekla  at 
home  of  all  the  sisters,  and  the  light  in  that  brave,  strong 
heart  of  our  grandmother  growing  slowly  dim ;  or  to 
hear  the  ringing  sweet  childish  voice  of  Gretchen  repeat- 
ing the  hymns  of  this  glorious  new  time  to  the  failing 
heart  of  the  olden  time. 

Last  night,  while  I  watched  beside  that  sick  bed,  I 
thought  much  of  Dr.  Luther  alone  in  the  Angustinian 
monastery,  patiently  abiding  in  the  dwell iiig  his  teaching 
has  emptied,  sending  forth  thence  workers  and  teachers 
throughout  the  world  ;  and  as  I  pondered  wliat  he  Ins 
bf;(m  to  us,  to  Fritz  and  Eva  in  their  lowly  hallowed  lioini-, 
to  our  mother,  to  our  grandmolher,  and  the  Bohemian 
people,  to  little  Gretchen  singing  his  hymns  to  me,  to  tJie 
dine  rescued   nuns,  to  Aunt  Agnes  in  tlie  convent,  and 


^6  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Christoplier  at  his  busy  printing-press,  to  young  and  old, 
religious  and  secular ;  I  wonder  what  the  new  time  will 
bring  to  that  brave,  tender,  warm  heart  which  has  set  so 
many  hearts  which  were  in  bondage  free,  and  made  life 
rich  to  so  many  who  were  poor,  yet  has  left  his  owa  life 
80  Bolitary  still. 


XIX. 


EVA'S    STORY, 


THTjnrNGiAN  Forest,  July,  1523. 
T  is  certainly  very  much  happier  for  Fritz  and  mc 
to  live  in  the  pastor's  house  than  in  the  castle ; 
down  among  the  homes  of  men,  and  the  beauti- 
ful mysteries  of  this  wonderful  forest  laud,  iU' 
stead  of  towering  high  above  all  on  a  fortified  height.  Not 
of  course  that  I  mean  the  heart  may  not  be  as  lowly  in  the 
castle  as  in  the  cottage ;  but  it  seems  to  me  a  richer  and 
more  fruitful  life  to  dwell  among  the  people  than  to  be 
raised  above  them.  The  character  of  the  dweUing  Heems 
to  symbolize  tne  nature  of  the  life.  And  what  lot  can  be 
so  blessed  as  ours  ? 

Linked  to  all  classes  that  we  may  serve  our  Master  who 
came  to  minister  among  all.  In  education  equal  to  the 
nobles,  or  rather  to  the  patrician  families  of  the  great  cities, 
who  BO  far  surpass  the  country  proprietors  in  culture,  in 
circumstances  the  pastor  is  nearer  the  peasant,  knowing  by 
experience  what  are  the  homely  trials  of  straitened  means. 
Little  offices  of  kindness  can  be  interchanged  between  us. 
Muhme  Triidcben  finds  a  pure  pleasure  in  bringing  me  a 
basket  of  her  new-laid  egQ,'i  &*  an  acknowledgment  of 
Fritz's  visits  to  her  sick  boy ;  and  it  makes  it  all  the 
sweeter  to  carry  food  to  the  family  of  the  old  charcoal 

(447) 


448  TEE  S CHONBER 0- COTTA  FAMIL T. 

burner  in  the  forest-clearing  tliat  our  meals  for  a  day  of 
two  have  to  be  a  little  plainer  in  consequence.  I  think 
gifts  which  come  from  loving  contrivance,  and  a  little  self- 
denial,  must  be  more  wholesome  to  receive  than  the  mere 
overflowings  of  a  full  store.  And  I  am  sure  they  are  far 
sweeter  to  give.  Our  lowly  home  seems  in  some  sense  the 
father's  house  of  the  \'illage;  and  it  is  such  homes,  such 
hallowed  centres  of  lo\'e  and  ministry  which  God  through 
our  Luther  is  giving  back  to  village  after  village  in  our 
land. 

But,  as  Fntz  says,  I  must  be  careful  not  to  build  our 
parsonage  into  a  pinnacle  higher  than  any  castle,  just  to 
make  a  pedestal  for  him,  which  I  certainly  sometimes  de- 
tect myself  doing.  His  gifts  seem  to  me  so  rich,  and  his 
character  is,  I  am  sure,  so  noble,  that  it  is  natural  I  should 
picture  to  myself  his  vocation  as  the  highest  in  the  Avorld ; 
that  it  is  the  highest,  however,  I  am  secretly  convinced ; 
the  highest  as  long  as  it  is  the  lowliest. 

The  people  begin  to  be  quite  at  home  with  us  now. 
There  are  no  great  gates,  no  moat,  no  heavy  drawbridge 
between  us  and  the  peasants.  Our  doors  stand  open  ;  and 
timid  hands  which  could  never  knock  to  demand  admit- 
tance at  castle  or  convent  gate  can  venture  gently  to  lift 
our  latch.  Mothers  creep  to  the  kitchen  with  their  sick 
children  to'  ask  for  herbs,  lotions,  or  drinks,  which  I  learned 
to  distil  in  the  convent.  And  then  I  can  ask  them  to  sit 
down,  and  we  often  naturally  begin  to  speak  of  Him  who 
healed  the  sick  peoj^le  with  a  word,  and  took  the  little 
children  from  the  mother's  arms  to  his  to  bless  thera. 
Sometimes,  too,  stories  of  wrong  and  sorrow  come  out  to 
me  which  no  earthly  balm  can  cure,  and  I  can  point  to  Hinj 
who  only  can  heal  because  he  only  can  forgive. 

Then  Fritz  says  he  can  preach  so  differently  from  know 
ing  the  heart-cares  and  burdens  of  his  flock  ;  and  the  peo})la 
seem  to  feel  so  differently  when  they  meet  again  from  thii 


EVA'S  STORK  445 

pulpit  with  sacred  words  and  histories  which  they  hjive 
grown  famiUar  with  in  the  home. 

A  few  of  the  girls  come  to  me  also  to  learn  sewing  or 
knitting,  and  to  listen  or  learn  to  read  Bible  stories. 
Fritz  meanwhile  instructs  the  boys  in  the  Scriptures  and 
in  sacred  music,  because  the  schoolmaster  is  waxing  old 
and  can  teach  the  children  little  but  a  few  Latin  prayers  by 
rote,  and  to  spell  out  the  German  alphabet. 

I  could  not  have  imagined  such  ignorance  as  we  have 
found  here.  It  seems,  Fritz  says,  as  if  the  first  preachers 
of  Christianity  to  the  Germans  had  done  very  much  for 
the  heart  of  the  nation  what  the  first  settlers  did  for  its 
forests,  made  a  clearing  here  and  there,  built  a  church,  and 
left  the  rest  to  its  original  state. 

The  bears  and  wolves  which  prowl  about  the  forest,  and 
sometimes  in  winter  venture  close  to  the  thresholds  of  our 
houses,  are  no  milder  than  the  wild  legends  which  haunt 
the  hearts  of  the  peasants.  On  Sundays  they  attire  them- 
selves in  their  holiday  clothes,  come  to  hear  mass,  bow  be- 
fore the  sacred  host,  and  the  crucifix,  and  image  of  the 
Virgin,  and  return  to  continue  during  the  week  their 
everyday  terror- Avorship  of  the  spirits  of  the  forest.  They 
seem  practically  to  think  our  Lord  is  the  God  of  the  church 
and  the  village,  while  the  old  pagan  sprites  retain  posses- 
sion of  the  forest.  They  appear  scarcely  even  quite  to  have 
decided  St.  Christopher's  question,  "  Which  is  the  strongest^ 
that  I  may  worship  him  ?" 

But,  alas,  whether  at  church  or  in  the  forest,  the  wor- 
ship they  have  lieen  taught  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  one 
of  fear.  The  Cobolds  and  various  sprites  they  beHeve  w  ill 
bewitch  their  cows,  set  fii-e  to  their  haystacks,  lead  thera 
astray  through  the  forest,  steal  their  infants  from  the 
cradle  to  replace  them  by  fairy  changehngs.  Their  mal- 
ignity and  wrath  they  deprecate,  therefore,  by  leaving 
fbem  gleanings  of  corn  or  nuts,  by  speaking  of  them  with 


♦so 


THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


feigned  respect ;  or  by  Christian  words  and  prayer.^  whici 

they  use  as  spells. 

From  the  Almighty  God  they  fear  seveier  evil.  He 
they  think,  is  to  sit  on  the  dreadful  day  of  wrath  on  tha 
j  udgment  throne  to  demand  strict  account  of  all  their  mi*- 
deeds.  Against  his  wrath  also  they  have  been  taught  to 
use  various  remedies  which  seem  to  us  little  better  than  a 
kind  of  spiritual  spells ;  paters,  aves,  penances,  confession, 
indulgences. 

To  jjrotect  them  against  the  forest  sprites  they  have 
secret  recourse  to  certain  gifted  persons,  mostly  shrivelled, 
solitary,  weird  old  women  (successors,  Fritz  says,  of  the 
old  pagan  prophetesses),  who  for  money  perform  certain 
rites  of  white  magic  for  them  ;  or  give  them  written  charms 
to  wear,  or  teach  them  magic  rhymes  to  say. 

To  protect  them  against  God,  they  used  to  have  recourse 
to  the  priest,  who  performed  masses  for  them,  laid  ghosts, 
absolved  sins,  promised  to  turn  aside  the  vengeance  of  of- 
fended heaven. 

But  in  both  cases  they  seem  to  have  the  melancholy  per- 
suasion that  the  ruling  power  is  hostile  to  them.  In  both 
cases,  religion  is  not  so  much  a  worship  as  a  spell ;  not  an 
approach  to  God,  but  an  interposing  of  something  to  keep 
off  the  weight  of  his  dreaded  presence. 

When  first  we  began  to  understand  this,  it  used  to  cost 
me  many  tears. 

"  How  can  it  be,"  I  said  one  day  to  Fritz,  "  that  all  the 
^orld  seems  so  utterly  to  misunderstand  God  ?" 

"  There  is  an  enemy  in  the  world,"  he  said,  solemnly 
*'  sowing  lies  about  God  in  every  heart." 

"  Yet  God  is  mightier  than  Satan,"  I  said ;  "  how  is  it 
then  that  no  ray  penetrates  through  the  darkness  from 
fruitful  seasons,  from  the  beauty  of  the  spring  time,  from 
the  abundance  of  the  harvest,  from  the  joys  of  home,  to 
show  the  people  tliat  God  is  love  ?" 


BVA'S  STOUT. 


45  • 


"  Ah,  Eva,  he  said  sadly,  "  have  you  forgotten  that  not 
only  is  the  devil  in  the  world,  but  sin  hi  the  heart  ?  He 
lies,  indeed,  about  God,  when  he  persuades  us  that  God 
grudges  us  blessings  ;  but  he  tells  the  truth  about  us  when 
be  reminds  us  that  we  are  sinners,  under  the  curse  of  the 
good  and  loving  law.  The  lie  would  not  stand  for  an  in- 
stant if  it  were  not  founded  on  the  truth.  It  is  only  by 
confessing  the  truth,  on  which  his  falsehood  is  based,  that 
we  can  destroy  it.  We  must  say  to  the  peasants,  "  Your 
fear  is  well  founded.  See  on  that  cross  what  your  s.\n 
cost !" 

"  But  the  old  religion  displayed  the  cross,"  I  said. 

"  Thank  God,  it  did — it  does  !"  he  said.  "  But,  instead 
of  the  crucifix,  we  have  to  tell  of  a  cross  from  which  the 
Crucified  is  gone  ;  of  an  empty  tomb  and  a  risen  Saviour  ; 
of  the  curse  removed  ;  of  God,  who  gave  the  Sacrifice,  wel- 
coming back  the  Suffei-er  to  the  throne." 

We  have  not  made  much  change  in  the  outward  cere- 
monies. Only,  instead  of  the  sacrifice  of  the  mass,  we 
have  the  feast  of  the  Holy  Supper ;  no  elevation  of  the 
host,  no  saying  of  private  masses  for  the  dead ;  and  all  the 
prayers,  thanksgivings,  and  hymns,  in  German. 

Dr.  Luther  stUl  retains  the  Latin  in  some  of  the  services 
of  Wittenberg,  on  account  of  its  being  a  university  town, 
that  the  youth  may  be  trained  in  the  ancient  languages 
He  said  he  would  gladly  have  some  of  the  services  in 
Greek  and  Hebrew,  in  order  thereby  to  make  the  study 
of  those  languages  as  common  as  that  of  Latin.  But  here 
in  the  forest,  among  the  ignorant  peasants,  and  the  knights, 
who,  for  the  most  part,  forget  before  old  age  what  little 
learning  they  acquired  in  boyhood,  Fritz  sees  no  reason 
whatever  for  retaining  the  ancient  language  ;  and  delight- 
ful it  is  to  watch  the  faces  of  the  people  when  he  reads  the 
Bible  or  Luther's  hymns,  now  that  some  of  them  begin  to 
upd'^i^juxd  that  the  divine  service  is  something  in  which 


45 2  THE  S CHONBERO-  COTTA  FAMIL 7. 

their  hearts  and  minds  are  to  join,  instead  of  a  kind  o4 
magic  external  rite  to  be  performed  for  them. 

It  is  a  great  deUght  also  to  us  to  visit  Chricmhild  and 
Uh'icfc  von  Gersdorf  at  the  castle.  The  old  knight  and 
Dame  Hermentrud  were  very  reserved  with  us  at  first  • 
but  the  knight  has  always  been  most  courteous  to  me 
and  Dame  Hermentrud,  now  that  she  is  convinced  we 
had  no  intention  of  trenchmg  on  her  state,  receives  us  very 
kindly. 

Between  us,  moreover,  there  is  another  tender  bond, 
since  she  has  allowed  herself  to  speak  of  her  sister  Beat- 
rice, to  me  known  only  as  the  subdued  and  faded  aged 
nun  ;  to  Dame  Hermentrud,  and  the  aged  retainers  and 
villagers,  remembered  in  her  bright,  but  early  blighted, 
girlhood. 

Again  and  again  I  have  to  tell  her  sister  the  stoiy  of 
her  gradual  awakening  from  imcomplaining  hopelessness 
to  a  lowly  and  heavenly  rest  in  Christ ;  and  of  her  meek 
and  peaceful  death. 

"  Great  sacrifices,"  she  said  once,  "  have  to  be  made  to 
the  honor  of  a  noble  lineage,  Frau  Pastorin.  I  also  have 
liad  my  sorrows ;"  and  she  opened  a  drawer  of  a  cabinet, 
and  showed  me  the  miniature  j^ortraits  of  a  nobleman  and 
his  young  boy,  her  husband  and  son,  both  in  armor. 
"  These  both  were  slain  in  a  feud  with  the  family  to  which 
Beatrice's  betrothed  belonged,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  And 
should  our  lines  ever  be  mingled  in  one  ?" 

"  But  are  these  feuds  never  to  die  out  ?"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  sternly,  leading  me  to  a  wmdow, 
from  which  we  looked  on  a  ruined  castle  m  the  distance. 
"  Thai  feud  has  died  out.     The  family  is  extinct !" 

"  The  Lord  Christ  tells  us  to  forgive  our  enemies,"  1 
said  quietly. 

"  IT"ndoubtedly,"  she  replied ;  "  but  the  Von  Bernstems 
were   usurpers    of    our   rights,  robbers    and   murderers 


EVA-S  STORY. 


45  » 


Such  wrongs  nmst  be  avenged,  or  society  would  fall  te 
pieces." 

Towards  the  peasants  Dame  Hermentrud  has  very  con- 
descending and  kindly  feelings,  and  frequently  gives  ns 
food  and  clothing  for  them,  although  she  still  doubts  the 
wisdom  of  teaching  them  to  read. 

"  Every  one  should  be  kept  in  his  place,"  she  says. 

And  as  yet  I  do  not  think  she  can  form  any  idea  oi 
heaven,  except  as  of  a  well  organized  community,  in  which 
the  spirits  of  the  nobles  preside  loftily  on  the  heights, 
while  the  spirits  of  the  peasants  keep  meekly  to  the  valleys  ; 
the  primary  distinction  between  earth  and  heaven  being, 
that  in  heaven  all  will  know  how  to  keep  in  their  places. 

And  no  doubt  in  one  sense  she  is  right.  But  how  would 
she  like  the  order  in  which  places  in  heaven  are  assigned  2 

"  The  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  first J^ 

"  jF/e  thai  is  cJdef  among  you,  let  him  he  as  he  that  doth  serve.^' 

Among  the  peasants  sometimes,  on  the  other  hand,  Fritz 
18  startled  by  the  bitterness  of  feeling  wliich  betrays  itself 
against  the  lords;  how  the  wrongs  of  generations  are 
tieasui-ed  up,  and  the  name  of  Luther  is  chiefly  revered 
from  a  vague  idea  tliat  ho,  the  jjcasant's  son,  will  set  tlio 
peasants  free. 

Ah,  when  will  God's  order  be  established  in  the  world, 
when  each,  instead  cf  struggling  upwards  in  selflsh  ambi- 
tion, and  pressing  others  down  in  mean  pride — looking  up 
to  envy,  and  looking  down  to  scorn — shall  look  up  to 
nonor  and  look  down  to  help  !  when  all  shall  "  by  lovo 
^    rve  one  another?" 

Septemher,    523. 

WE  have  now  a  guest  of  whom  I  scarcely  dare  to 
speak  to  Dame  Ilermeiitrud.     Indeed,  the  whole 
history  Fritz  and  I  will  never  tell  to  any  here. 

A  few  days  since  a  worn,  gray  'laired  old  man  came  to 


4^4  ^^^  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

our  house,  whom  Fritz  welcomed  as  an  old  friend.  Il  was 
Priest  Kuprecht  Ilaller,  from  Francoi^ia.  Fritz  had  told 
me  something  of  his  history,  so  that  I  knew  what  he 
meant,  when  in  a  quivering  voice  he  said,  abruptly,  takmg 
Fritz  aside, — 

"  Bertha  is'  very  ill — perhaps  dying.  I  must  never  see 
her  any  more.  She  will  not  suffer  it,  I  know\  Can  you 
go  and  speak  a  few  words  of  comfort  to  her  ?" 

Frita  expressed  his  readiness  to  do  anything  in  his 
power,  and  it  was  agreed  that  Priest  Ruprecht  was  to  stay 
>vith  us  that  night,  and  that  they  were  to  start  together  on 
the  morrow  for  the  farm  where  Bertha  was  at  service, 
which  lay  not  many  miles  off  through  the  forest. 

But  in  the  night  I  had  a  thought,  which  I  determined  to 
set  going  before  I  mentioned  it  to  Fritz,  because  he  wUl 
often  consent  to  a  thing  which  is  once  begun,  which  he 
would  think  quite  imi^racticable  if  it  is  on\y  2-)roposed ;  that 
iSj  especially  as  regards  anything  in  which  I  am  involved 
Accordingly,  the  next  morning  I  rose  very  early  and  went 
to  our  neighbor,  Farmer, Herder,  to  ask  him  to  lend  us  hi? 
old  gray  pony  for  the  day,  to  bring  home  an  invalid.  He 
consented,  and  before  we  had  finished  breakfast  the  pony 
was  at  the  door. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  said  Fritz. 

•'It  is  Farmer  Herder's  pony  to  take  me  to  the  farm 
rrhere  Bertha  hves,  and  to  bring  her  back,"  I  said. 

''  Impossible,  my  love,"  said  Fritz. 

"  But  you  see  it  is  already  all  arranged,  and  begun  to  be 
lone,"  I  said  ;  "  I  am  dressed,  and  the  room  is  all  ready  to 
receive  her." 

Priest  Ruprecht  rose  from  the  table,  and  moved  towards 
me,  exclaiming  fervently, — "  God  bless  you  !"  Then  seem- 
ing to  fear  that  he  had  said  what  he  had  no  right  to  say. 
he  added,  "  God  bless  you  for  the  thought.  But  it  is  too 
much  !"  and  he  left  the  rooiiL 


EVA'S  STORY.  455 

"Wliat  would  you  do,  Eva?"  Fritz  sa'd,  looking  ia 
much  perplexity  at  me. 

"  Welcome  Bertha  as  a  sister,"  I  said,  "  and  nurse  hei 
until  she  is  ^vell." 

"But  how  can  I  suffer  you  to  be  under  one  roof?"  he 
paid. 

I  could  not  help  my  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

"  The  Lord  Jesus  suffered  such  to  anoint  his  feet,"  I 
said,  "  and  she,  you  told  me,  loves  him,  has  given  up  all 
dearest  to  her  to  keep  his  words.  Let  us  blot  out  the 
past  as  he  does,  and  let  her  begin  life  again  from  our 
home,  if  God  wills  it  so." 

Fritz  made  no  fxirther  objection.  And  through  the 
dewy  forest  paths  we  went,  we  three  ;  and  Avith  us,  I  think 
we  all  felt,  went  Another,  invisible,  the  Good  Shepherd  of 
the  wandering  sheep. 

Never  did  the  green  glades  and  forest  flowers  and 
solemn  pines  seem  to  me  more  fresh  and  beautiful,  and 
more  like  a  holy  cathedral  than  that  morning. ' 

After  a  httle  meek  resistance  Bertha  came  back  with 
Fritz  and  me.  Her  sickness  seemed  to  me  to  be  more  tlie 
decline  of  one  for  Avhora  life's  hopes  and  work  are  over, 
than  any  positi\'e  disease.  And  Avith  care,  the  gray  pony 
brought  her  safely  home. 

Never  did  our  dear  home  seem  to  welcome  us  so  brightly 
as  when  we  led  her  back  to  it,  for  whom  it  was  to  bs  a 
sanctuary  of  rest,  and  refuge  from  bitter  tongues. 

There  was  a  little  room  over  the  porch  which  we  had  set 
p.part  as  the  guest-chamber  ;  and  very  sweet  it  was  to  me 
(hat  Bertha  should  be  its  first  inmate  ;  very  sweet  to  Frit? 
and  me  that  our  home  should  be  what  our  Lord's  heart  is, 
B  refuge  for  the  outcast,  the  penitent,  the  solitary,  and  the 
sorrowful. 

Sucii  a  look  of  rest  came  over  her  poor,  worn  face,  when 
at  last  she  was  laid  on  her  little  bed  I 


45  >  THE  SCn'ONBERG-COTTA  FA3fILY. 

"  1  think  I  shall  get  well  soon,"  she  said  the  next  morn' 
ing,  "  and  then  you  will  let  me  stay  and  be  your  servant ; 
when  I  am  strong  I  can  work  really  hard,  and  there  is 
Boni^thing  in  you  both  which  makes  me  feel  this  like 
Lome." 

"We  will  try,"  I  said,  "to  find  out  what  God  would 
Lave  us  do." 

She  does  improve  daily.  Yesterday  she  asked  for  some 
spinning,  or  other  work  to  do,  and  it  seems  to  cheer  her 
wonderfully.  To-day  she  has  been  sitting  in  our  dwelling- 
room  with  her  sjiinning-wheel.  I  introduced  her  to  the 
villagers  who  come  in  as  a  friend  who  has  been  very  ill. 
They  do  not  know  her  history. 

January,  1524. 

IT  is  all  accomplished  now.     The  little  guest-chamber 
over  the  porch  is  empty  again,  and  Bertha  is  gone. 

As  she  was  recovering  Fritz  received  a  letter  from  Priest 
Ruprecht,  which  he  read  in  silence,  and  then  laid  aside 
until  we  were  alone  on  one  of  our  expeditions  to  the  old 
charcoal-burner's  in  the  forest. 

"  Ilaller  wants  to  see  Bertha  once  more,"  he  said,  dubi- 
on?,]j. 

"  And  why  not,  Fritz  ?"  I  said  ;  "  Why  should  not  the 
old  wrong  as  far  as  possible  be  repaired,  and  those  who 
have  given  each  other  up  at  God's  commandment,  be  given 
back  to  each  other  by  his  commandment. 

"  I  have  thought  so  often,  my  love,"  he  said,  "  but  I  did 
not  know  what  you  would  think." 

So  after  some  \ittle  difficulty  and  delay,  Bwtha  and 
Priest  Ruprecht  Haller  were  married  very  quietly  in  oui 
village  church,  and  went  forth  to  a  distant  village  in  Pome 
rania,  by  the  Baltic  Sea,  from  which  Dr.  Luther  had  re- 
ceived a  request  to  send  them  a  minister  of  the  Gospel. 

It  went  to  ray  heart  to  see  the  two  go  forth  together 


ELSE'S  STOUT.  ^jj 

down  the  village  sti-eet,  those  two  whose  youth  inhuman 
laws  and  numan  weakness  had  so  blighted.  There  was  a 
reverence  about  his  tenderness  to  her,  and  a  wistful  lowli- 
ness in  hers  for  him,  which  said,  "  All  that  thou  hast  lost 
for  me,  as  far  as  may  be  I  will  make  up  to  thee  in  the 
years  that  remain !" 

But  as  we  watched  her  pale  face  and  feeble  steps,  and 
his  bent,  though  still  vigorous  form,  Fritz  took  ray  hands 
as  we  turned  back  into  the  house,  and  said, — 

"  It  is  well.     But  it  can  hardly  be  for  long  !" 

And  I  could  not  answer  him  for  tears. 


ELSE'S    STORY. 

WlTTEXBERG,   Au^tlSt,    1524. 

THE  slow  lingering  months  of  decline  are  over.  Yes- 
terday our  grandmother  died.  As  I  look  for  the 
last  time  on  the  face  that  had  smiled  on  me  from  childhood, 
the  hands  which  rendered  so  many  little  loving  services  to 
me,  none  of  which  can  evermore  be  returned  to  her,  wha* 
a  sacred  tenderness  is  thrown  over  all  recollection  of  hei 
how  each  little  act  of  thoughtful  consideration  and  self- 
denial  rushes  back  on  the  heart,  what  love  I  can  see  glow- 
ing through  the  anxious  care  which  sometimes  made  her  a 
little  querulous,  especially  Avith  my  father,  altiiougli  never 
lately. 

Can  life  ever  be  quite  the  same  again  ?  Can  we  ever 
forget  to  bear  tenderly  with  little  infirmities  such  as  those 
of  hers,  which  seem  so  blameless  now,  or  to  prize  with  a 
thankfulness  Avhich  would  flood  with  sunshine  our  little 
cares,  the  love  which  muht  one  day  be  silent  to  us  as  she  is 
now  ? 

Her  death  seems  to  age  us  all  into  another  generation  I 
She  lived  from  the  middle  of  the  old  world  into  the  fuli 
20 


458  THE  SVHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

moriiiug  of  the  new ;  and  a  whole  age  of  the  past  se^ms  to  die 
with  her.  But  after  seeing  those  Bohemian  deputies  and 
knoAving  that  Fritz  and  Eva  were  married,  she  ceased  to 
wish  to  live.  She  had  lived,  she  said,  through  two  morn- 
ings of  time  on  earth,  and  now  she  longed  for  the  day- 
break of  heaven. 

But  yesterday  morning,  one  of  us ;  and  now  one  of  th 
heavenly  host !     Yesterday  we  knew  every  thought  of  hei 
heart,  every  detail  of  her  life,  and  now  she  is  removed  intc 
a  sphere  of  which  we  know  less  than  of  the  daily  life  of 
'\e  most  ancient  of  the  patriarchs.     As  Dr.  Lather  says, 

.  infant  on  its  mother's  breast  has  ag  much  understanding 
i  the  life  before  it,  as  we  of  the  life  before  us  after  death. 

\ret,"  he  saith  also,  "  since  God  hath  made  his  world  of 
«,arth  and  sky  so  fair,  how  much  fairer  that  imperishable 
world  beyond  I" 

All  seems  to  me  clear  and  bright  after  the  resurrection  ; 
but  now  ?  Avhere  is  that  spirit  now,  so  familiar  to  us  and 
so  dear,  and  now  so  utterly  separated  ? 

Dr.  Luther  said,  "  A  Christian  should  say,  I  know  that 
it  is  thus  I  shall  journey  hence  ;  when  my  soul  goes  foi-th 
charge  is  given  to  God's  kings  and  high  princes,  who  are 
the  dear  angels,  to  receive  me  andconvo}^  me  safely  home." 
"  The  Holy  Scriptures,"  he  writes,  "  teach  nothing  of  purga- 
tory, but  tell  us  that  the  spirits  of  the  just  enjoy  the 
sweetest  and  most  delightful  peace  and  rest.  How  they 
lived  there,  indeed,  we  knoAV  not,  or  what  the  place  is 
where  they  dweL,  But  this  we  know  assuredly,  they  are 
in  no  grief  or  pain,  but  rest  in  the  grace  of  God.  As  in^ 
this  life  they  were  wont  to  fall  softly  asleep  in  the  guard^ 
and  keeping  of  God  and  the  dear  angels,  without  fear  of' 
harm,  although  the  devils  might  prowl  around  them;  m 
after  this  life  do  they  repose  in  the  hand  of  God." 

"  To  depart  and  be  with  Christ  is  far  better, 

*'■  To-day  in  paradise  with  ?«e." 


ELSE'S  STOUT.  455 

^^  Absent  from  the  body^  at  home  with  the  Lord.^^ 

Everything  for  our  peace  and  comfort  concerning  those 
who  are  pure  depends  on  what  those  words  '•'■with  wie" 
were  to  them  and  are  to  us.  Where  and  how  they  live, 
indeed,  we  know  not ;  with  whom  we  know.  The  more 
then  O  our  Saviour  and  theirs,  we  know  of  thee,  the 
more  we  know  of  them.  With  thee,  indeed,  the  waiting 
time  before  the  resurrection  can  be  no  cold  drear  ante- 
chamber of  the  palace.  Where  thou  art,  must  be  light, 
love,  and  home. 

Precious  as  Dr.  Luther's  own  words  are,  what  are  they 
at  a  time  like  this,  compared  with  the  Word  of  God  he  has 
unveiled  to  us  ? 

My  mother,  however,  is  greatly  cheered  by  these  words 
of  his,  "  Our  Lord  and  Saviour  grant  us  jo^-fully  to  see 
each  other  again  hereafter.  For  our  faith  is  sure,  and  we 
doubt  not  that  we  shall  see  each  other  again  with  Christ  in 
a  little  while  ;  since  the  departure  from  this  life  to  be  with 
Christ  is  less,  in  God's  sight,  than  if  I  go  from  you  to 
Mansfeld,  or  you  took  leave  of  me  to  go  from  Wittenberg 
to  Mansfeld.  This  is  assuredly  true.  A  brief  hour  of 
Bleep  and  all  will  be  changed." 

Wittenberg,  September,  1524. 

DURING  this  month  we  have  been  able  often  to  give 
thanks  that  the  beloved  feeble  form  is  at  rest.  The 
times  seem  very  troublous.  Dr.  Luther  thinks  most  seri- 
ously of  them.  Rumors  have  reached  us  for  some  time  of 
an  uneasy  feeling  among  the  peasantry.  Fritz  wrote  about 
it  from  the  Thuringian  Forest.  The  peasants,  as  our  good 
Elector  said  lately,  have  suffered  many  wrongs  from  their 
lords ;  and  Fritz  says  they  had  formed  the  wildest  liopoa 
of  better  days  from  Dr.  Luther  and  his  wortls.  They 
thought  the  days  of  freedom  had  come.  And  bitter  and 
hard  it  is  for  them  to  learn  that  the  Gospel  brings  freedom 


460  TEE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 

noM'  as  of  old  by  giving  strength  to  sufler,  instead  of  Ij? 
suddenly  redressing  wrong.  The  fanatics,  moreover,  have 
been  among  them.  The  Zwickau  prophets  and  Tlioma? 
IMiinzer  (silenced  last  year  at  Wittenberg  by  Luther's  re- 
turn from  the  Wartburg),  have  promised  them  all  they 
actually  expected  from  Luther.  Once  more,  they  say,  God 
IS  sending  inspired  men  on  earth,  to  introduce  a  new  order 
of  things,  no  more  to  teach  the  saints  how  to  bow,  suffer, 
and  be  patient ;  but  how  to  fight  and  avenge  themselves  of 
their  adversaries,  and  to  reign. 

October,  1524. 

NOW,  alas,  the  peasants  are  in  open  revolt,  rushing 
through  the  land  by  tens  of  thousands.  The  insur- 
rection began  in  the  Black  Forest,  and  noAV  it  sweeps 
throughout  the  land,  gathering  strength  as  it  advances, 
and  bearing  everything  before  it  by  the  mere  force  of 
numbers  and  movement.  City  after  city  yields  and  admits 
them,  and  swears  to  their  Twelve  Articles,  which  in  them- 
selves they  say  are  not  so  bad,  if  only  they  were  enforced 
by  better  means.  Castle  after  castle  is  assailed  and  falls. 
Ulrich  writes  in  burning  indignation  at  the  cruel  deaths 
they  have  inflicted  on  noble  men  and  women,  and  on  their 
pillaging  the  convents.  Fritz,  on  the  other  hand,  writes 
entreating  us  not  to  forget  the  long  catalogue  of  legalized 
wi'ongs  which  had  led  to  this  moment  of  fierce  and  lawless 
'engeance. 

Dr.  Luther,  sympathizing  with  the  peasants  by  birth,  and 
by  virtue  of  his  own  quick  and  generous  indignation  at 
injustice,  whilst  with  a  prophet's  plainness  he  blames  Jie 
nobles  for  their  exactions  and  tyranny,  yet  sternly  demands 
the  suppression  of  the  revolt  with  the  sword.  He  says 
'his  is  essential,  if  it  were  only  to  free  the  honest  and  well- 
meaning  peasantry  from  the  tyranny  cif  the  ambitious  and 
turbulent  mor  who  compel  them  to  join  their  banner,  on 


ELSE'S  STOhT.  461 

p&va  ;f  deatli.  With  a  heart  that  bleeds  at  every  severity- 
he  counsels  the  severest  measures  as  the  most  mercifuh 
More  than  once  he  and  others  of  the  Wittenberg  doctors 
liave  succeeded  in  qxiietiug  and  dispersing  riotous  bands 
of  the  peasants  assembled  by  tens  of  thousands,  with  a  few 
calm  and  earnest  words.  But  bitter,  indeed,  are  these 
times  to  him.  The  peasants  whom  he  pities  and  because 
he  pities  condemns,  call  out  that  he  has  betrayed  them, 
and  threaten  his  life.  The  prelates  and  princes  of  the  old 
religion  declare  all  this  disorder  and  pillage  are  only  the 
natural  consequences  of  his  false  doctrine.  But  between 
them  both  he  goes  steadfastly  forward  speaking  faitliful 
words  to  all.  More  and  more,  however,  as  terrible  ru- 
mours reach  us  of  torture,  and  murder,  and  wild  pillage, 
he  seems  to  become  convinced  that  mercy  and  vigour  are 
on  the  same  side.  And  now  he,  who^^e  journey  through 
Germany  not  three  years  since  was  a  triumphal  procession, 
has  to  ride  secretly  from  place  to  place  on  his  errands  of 
peace-making,  in  danger  of  being  put  to  death  by  the  peo- 
ple if  he  Avere  discovered! 

]My  heart  aches  for  these  peasants.  These  are  not  the 
Pharisees  who  were  "  not  blind,^''  but  understood  only  too 
well  what  they  rejected.  They  are  the  "  multitudes,"  the 
common  people,  who  as  of  old  lieard  the  voice  of  love  and 
truth  gladly ;  for  whom  dying  He  pleaded,  "  They  know 
not  what  they  do." 

Ajyril,  1525. 

TIIK  tide  has  turned.  The  arm^'  of  the  empire,  under 
Truchsess,  is  out.  Philip  of  Hesse,  after  quieting 
his  own  dominions,  is  come  to  Saxony  to  suppress  the  roi 
volt  here.  Our  own  gentle  and  merciful  Elector,  who  so 
reluctantly  drew  the  sword,  ie,  they  say,  dying.  'JMie 
world  is  full  of  change! 
Meaotime,  in  our  little  Wittenberg  world,  cliauges  are 


4.62  THE  SCHONBERQ.COTTA  FAMILY. 

in  prospect*     It  seems  probable  that  Dr.  Luther,  after  set 

tling  the  otlier  eight  nuns,  and  endeavouring  also  to  find  a 
home  for  Catherine  von  Bora,  will  espouse  her  himself. 
A  few  months  since,  he  tried  to  persuade  her  to  marrj 
Glatz,  pastor  cf  Orlamund,  but  she  refused.  And  now  it 
seems  certain  that  the  solitary  Augustinian  convent  wiL 
become  a  home,  and  that  she  wiU  make  it  so. 

Gottfried  and  I  cannot  but  rejoice.  In  this  world  of 
inmult  and  unrest,  it  seems  so  needful  that  that  warm, 
earnest  heart  should  have  one  place  where  it  can  rest,  one 
heart  that  will  understand  and  be  true  to  him  if  all  else 
should  become  estranged,  as  so  many  have.  And  this,  Ave 
trust,  Catherine  von  Bora  will  be  to  him. 

Reserved,  and  with  an  innate  dignity,  which  will  befit 
the  wife  of  him  whom  God  has  called  in  so  n\any  ways  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  hearts  of  men,  she  has  a  spirit  which 
will  prevent  her  sinking  into  the  mere  reflection  of  that 
resolute  character,  and  a  cheerfulness  and  womanly  tact 
which  will,  we  hope,  sustain  him  through  many  a  depress- 
ing hour,  such  as  those  who  wear  earth's  crowns  of  anj 
kind  must  know. 

DecejTiber,  1525. 

THIS  year  has,  indeed,  been  a  year  of  changes.  The 
peasant  revolt  is  crushed.  At  Frankenhausen,  the 
last  great  victory  was  gained.  Thomas  Miinzer  was  slain, 
and  his  undisciplined  hosts  fled  in  hopeless  confusion.  The 
revolt  is  crushed,  alas  !  Gottfried  says,  as  men  crush  their 
enemies  when  once  in  their  power,  exceeding  the  crime  in 
the  i)uuishment,  and  laying  up  a  store  of  future  revolt  and 
vengeance  for  future  generations. 

The  good  and  wise  Elector  Fried:  ich  died  just  before 
the  victory.  It  is  well,  perhojDS,  that  he  did  not  Uve  to 
see  the  terrible  vengeance  that  has  been  inflicted,  the  road- 
Bides  lined  with  gibbets,  torture  returned  by  tortui-e,  insult 


ELSE  S  STOUT.  46 

by  cruel  mockiug.  The  poor  deluded  people,  especially 
tbe  peasantry,  wept  for  the  good  Elector,  and  said,  "  Ahj 
<iod,  have  mercy  on  us !  We  have  lost  our  ftither !"  lie 
used  to  speak  kindly  to  their  children  in  the  fields,  and 
was  always  ready  to  listen  to  a  tale  of  wrong.  He  died 
iiumbly  as  a  Christian ;  he  was  buried  royally  as  a  prince. 

Shortly  before  his  death,  his  chaplain,  Spalatin,  came  to  see 
him.  The  Elector  gave  him  his  hand,  and  said,  "  You  do 
well  to  come  to  me.    We  are  commanded  to  visit  the  sick." 

Neither  brother  nor  any  near  relative  was  with  him 
when  he  died.  The  services  of  all  brave  men  were  needed 
in  those  stormy  days.  But  he  was  not  forsaken.  To  the 
childless,  sohtary  suiferer,  his  faithful  servants  were  like  a 
family. 

"  Oh,  dear  childrei   "  he  said,  "  1  suffer  greatly !" 

Then  Joachim  Sack,  one  of  his  household,  a  Silesian, 
said, — 

"  Most  gracious  master,  if  God  will,  you  will  soon  be 
better." 

Shortly  after,  the  dying  prince  said, — 

"  Dear  children,  I  am  ill  indeed." 

And  Sack  answered, — 

"  Gracious  lord,  the  Almighty  God  sends  you  all  this 
with  a  Father's  love,  and  Avith  the  best  Avill  to  you." 

Then  the  prince  repeated  softly,  in  Latin,  the  words  of 
Job,  "The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  awayj 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

And  once  more  he  said, — 

"  Dear  children,  I  am  very  ill." 

And  the  faithful  Joachim  comforted  him  again,—"  Tlie 
gracious  Master,  the  Almighty  God,  sends  it  all  to  your 
electoral  highness  from  the  greatest  love." 

The  prince  clasped  his  hands,  and  said, — 

'^  For  ihat  1  can  trust  my  gond  God  P'  and  added,  "JIclp 
me,  help  me,  O  my  God." 


464  TEE  SCHdNBSRO-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

And  after  l•ecei^  ing  the  holy  communion  in  l»oth  kinds, 
he  called  his  servants  around  him,  and  said, — 

"  Dear  children,  I  entreat  you,  that  in  whatever  I  have 
done  you  wrong,  by  Avord  or  deed,  you  will  forgive  me 
for  God's  sake,  and  pray  others  to  do  the  same.  For  we 
princes  do  much  wrong  often  to  poor  people  that  should 
not  be." 

As  he  spoke  thus,  all  that  were  in  the  room  could  not 
restrain  their  tears,  and  seeing  that,  he  said, — 

"  Dear  children,  weep  not  for  me.  It  will  not  be  long 
with  me  now.    But  think  of  me,  and  pray  to  God  for  me." 

Spalatin  had  copied  some  verses  of  the  Bible  for  him^ 
which  he  put  on  his  spectacles  to  read  for  himself  He 
thought  much  of  Luther,  whom,  mu  1  as  he  had  befriended 
him,  he  had  never  spoken  to,  and  ent  for  him.  But  it 
was  in  vain.  Luther  was  on  the  Hartz  mountains,  endeav- 
ouring to  quell  the  peasants'  revolt.  That  interview  is  de- 
ferred to  the  world  where  all  earthly  distinctions  are  forgot- 
ten, but  where  the  least  Christian  services  are  remembered. 

So,  "  a  child  of  peace,"  as  one  said,  "  he  departed,  and 
rests  in  peace,  through  the  high  and  only  merits  of  the 
only  Son  of  God,"  in  whom,  in  his  last  testament,  he  con- 
fessed was  "  all  his  hope." 

It  was  a  solemn  day  for  Witteuoerg  when  they  laid 
him  in  his  grave  in  the  Electoral  Church,  whicn  he  had 
once  so  richly  provided  with  relics.  His  body  lying  be- 
neath it  is  the  most  sacred  relic  it  enshrines  for  us  now. 

Knights  and  burghers  met  the  coffin  at  the  city  gate ; 
eight  noblemen  carried  it,  and  a  iong  train  of  mourners 
passed  through  the  silent  streets.  Many  chanted  around 
the  tomb  the  old  Latin  hymns,  "  In  media  vitse,"  and  "  Si 
bona  suscipimur,"  and  also  the  GerT?ian.  "  From  deepest 
aeed  I  cry  to  Thee,"  and — 

"  In  Fried  und  Freud  falir  ich  dahin," 
"  I  journey  hence  iu  peace  and  joy." 


ELSE'S  STORY.  465 

The  tnouey  which  would,  in  former  times,  have  purchased 
massefc  for  his  soul,  was  given  to  the  poor.  And  Dr.  Lu- 
ther preached  a  sermon  on  the  promise,  "'Those  who  sleep 
in  Jesus,  God  will  bring  Avith  him,"  which  makes  it  need- 
less, indeed,  to  pray  for  the  repose  of  those  who  thus  sleep. 
Gretchen  asked  me  in  the  evening  what  the  hymn 
meant, — 

"  I  journey  hence  in  peace  and  joy ;  " 

I  told  her  it  was  the  soul  of  the  prince  that  thus  journeyed 
hence. 

"The  procession  was  so  dark  and  sad,"  she  said,  "the 
words  did  not  seem  to  suit." 

"  That  procession  was  going  to  the  gi'ave,"  said  Thekla, 
who  was  with  us.  '  Tliere  was  another  procession,  which 
we  could  not  see,  going  to  heaven.  The  holy  angels, 
clothed  in  radiant  white, -were  carrying  the  happy  spirit 
to  heaven,  and  singing,  as  they  went,  anthems  such  aa 
that,  while  we  Avere  weeping  here." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  procession  of  the  dear  angels, 
Aunt  Thekla,"  said  Gretchen.  "Jlother  says  the  good 
Elector  had  no  little  children  to  love  him,  and  no  one  to 
call  him  any  tenderer  name  than  '  Your  electoral  highness' 
when  he  died.  But  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave  he  will 
not  oe  lonely,  Avill  he?  The  holy  angels  Avill  have  tender 
names  for  him  there,  will  they  not  ?" 

"  The  Lord  Jesus  Avill,  at  all  events,"  I  said.  "  He  call- 
eth  his  OAvn  sheep  by  name." 

And  Gretchen  was  comforted  for  the  Elector. 

Not  long  after  that  day  of  mourning  came  a  clay  of  re- 
joicing to  our  household,  and  to  all  the  friendly  circle  at 
Wittenberg 

Quietly,  in  our  house,  on  June  the  23d,  Dr.  Luther  and 
(Catherine  vou  Bora  were  married. 

A  f«w  days  afterwards  the  weddmg  feast  was  held  on 
2(i* 


^66  TEE  SCnONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

fclio  home-bringing  of  the  bride  to  the  Augustinian  Cioistei 
wliich,  together  with  "  twelve  brewings  of  beer  yearly," 
the  good  Elector  John  Frederic  has  given  Lnther  as  a 
wedding  present.  Brave  old  John  Luther  and  his  wife, 
and  Luther's  pious  mother  came  to  the  feast  from  Mans- 
feld,  and  a  day  of  much  festivity  it  was  to  all. 

And  now  for  six  months,  what  Luther  calls  "  that  great 
thing,  the  union  and  communion  between  husband  and 
wife,"  hath  hallowed  the  old  convent  into  a  home,  whilst 
the  prayer  of  faith  and  the  presence  of  Him  whom  faith 
sees,  have  consecrated  the  home  into  a  sanctuary  of  love 
and  peace. 

Many  precious  things  hath  Dr.  Luther  said  of  marriage 
God,  he  says,  has  set  the  type  of  marriage  before  us 
throughout  all  creation.  Each  creature  seeks  its  perfec- 
tion through  being  blent  with  another.  The  very  heaven 
and  earth  picture  it  to  us,  for  does  not  the  sky  embrace 
the  green  earth  as  its  bride  ?  "  Precious,  excellent,  glori- 
ous," he  says,  "is  that  word  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  'the 
heart  of  the  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her.'  " 

He  says  also,  that  so  does  he  honour  the  married  state, 
that  before  he  thought  of  marrying  his  Catherine,  he  had 
resolved,  if  he  should  be  laid  suddenly  on  his  dying  bed, 
to  be  espoused  before  he  died,  and  to  give  two  silver  gob- 
lets to  the  maiden  as  his  wedding  and  dying  gifts.  And 
lately  he  counselled  one  Avho  was  to  be  married,  "  Dear 
friend,  do  thou  as  I  did,  when  I  would  take  my  Kathe.  I 
prayed  to  our  Lord  God  with  all  my  heart.  A  good  wifo 
is  a  companion  of  life,  and  her  husband's  solace  and  joy, 
and  when  a  pious  man  and  wife  love  each  other  truly,  tha 
devil  has  little  power  to  hurt  them." 

"All  men,"  he  said,  "  believe  and  understand  that  mar 
riage  is  marriage,  a  hand  a  hand,  riches  are  riches ;  but  to 
believe  that  marriage  is  of  God,  and  ordered  and  ap- 
pointed by  God;   that  the  hand  is  made  by  God,  that 


ELSE'S  STORT.  467 

wealth  and  aL  we  liave  and  are  is  given  by  God,  and  is  to 
be  used  as  his  work  to  his  praise,  that  is  not  so  commonly 
believed.  And  a  good  wife,"  he  said,  "  should  be  loved 
and  honoured,  firstly,  because  she  is  God's  gift  and  pre- 
Kent;  secondly,  because  God  has  endowed  woman  with 
noble  and  gi-eat  virtues,  which,  when  they  are  modest, 
faithful,  and  believing,  far  overbalance  their  little  faiUnga 
and  infirmities." 

Wittenberg,  December,  1525. 

ANOTHER,  year  all  but  closed — a  year  of  mingled 
storm  and  sunshine !  The  sorrow  we  dreaded  for 
our  poor  Thekla  is  come  at  last  too  surely.  Bertrand  do 
Crequy  is  dead !  He  died  in  a  prison  alone,  for  conscience' 
sake,  but  at  peace  in  God.  A  sti-anger  from  Flanders 
brought  her  a  few  words  of  farewell  in  liis  handwriting, 
and  afterwards  saw  him  dead,  so  that  she  cannot  doubt. 
She  seems  to  move  about  like  one  walking  in  a  dream,  per- 
forming every  common  act  of  life  as  before,  but  with  the 
Boul  asleep.  We  are  afraid  what  will  be  the  end  of  it. 
God  help  her !  She  is  now  gone  for  the  Christmas  to  Eva 
and  Fritz. 

Sad  divisions  have  sprung  up  among  the  evangelical 
Christians,  Dv  Luther  is  very  angry  at  some  doctrines  of 
Karlstadt  and  the  Swiss  brethren  concerning  the  holy  sac- 
raments, and  says  they  will  be  Avise  above  what  is  written. 
Wc  grieve  at  these  things,  especially  as  our  Atlantis  has 
married  a  Swiss,  and  Dr.  Luther  will  not  acknowledge 
them  as  brethren.  Our  poor  Atlantis  is  much  perplexed, 
and  writes  that  she  is  sure  her  husband  meaneth  not  to 
undervalue  the  Holy  Supper,  and  that  in  very  truth  tliey 
find  their  Saviour  present  there  as  we  do.  But  Dr.  Lullier 
hi  very  stern  about  it.  He  fears  disorders  and  wild 
opinions  will  be  brought  in  again,  such  as  led  to  the 
elaughter  of  the  peasants'  war.     Yet  he  himself  is  sorely 


|68  THE  8CH0NBER0-  0  0 TTA  FAMIL 7. 

distrfessed  about  it,  and  saith  often  tliat  the  times  are  sc 
evil  the  end  of  the  world  is  surely  drawing  nigh. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  perplexity,  we  who  love  him  re- 
joice that  he  has  that  quiet  home  in  the  Aiigustei,  where 
"  Lord  Kiithe,"  as  he  calls  her,  and  her  little  son  Hanschea 
reign,  and  where  the  dear,  holy  angels,  as  Luther  says^ 
watch  over  the  cradle  of  the  child.  It  was  a  festival  to  all 
Wittenberg  when  little  Hans  Luther  was  born. 

Luther's  house  is  like  the  sacred  hearth  of  Wittenberg 
and  of  all  the  land.  There  in  the  winter  evenings  he  wel- 
comes his  friends  to  the  cheerful  room  with  the  large 
window,  and  sometimes  they  sing  good  songs  or  holy 
hymns  in  parts,  accompanied  by  the  lute  and  harp,  music 
at  which  Dr.  Luther  is.  sure  King  David  would  be  amazed 
and  delighted,  could  he  rise  from  his  grave,  "  since  there 
can  have  been  none  so  fine  in  his  days."  "The  dev?l,"  he 
says,  "always  flies  from  music,  especially  from  sacred  music, 
because  he  is  a  despairing  spirit,  and  cannot  bear  joy  and 
gladness." 

And  in  the  summer  days  he  sits  under  the  pear-tree  in 
his  garden,  while  Kiithe  works  beside  him ;  or  he  jilants 
seeds  and  makes  a  fountain ;  or  he  talks  to  her  and  his 
friends  about  the  wonders  of  beauty  God  has  set  in  the 
Humblest  flowers,  and  the  picture  of  the  resurrection  he 
gives  us  in  every  delicate  twig  that  in  spring  bursts  from 
the  dry  brown  stems  of  winter. 

More  and  more  we  see  what  a  good  wife  God  has  given 
him  in  Catherine  von  Bora,  with  her  cheerful,  firm,  and 
active  spirit,  and  her  devoted  affection  for  him.  Already 
she  has  the  management  of  all  the  finance  of  the  house- 
hold, a  very  necessary  arrangement,  if  the  house  of  Luther 
is  not  to  go  to  ruin  ,  for  Dr.  Luther  Avould  give  every- 
thing, even  to  his  clothes  and  furniture,  to  any  one  in  dis- 
tress, and  he  will  not  receive  any  payment  either  for  his 
Irooks  or  for  teaching  the  students. 


ELBE'S  8T0RT.  469 

She  is  a  c<jmpaiHon  for  him,  moreover,  and  not  a  mere 
listener,  which  he  Ukes,  however  much  he  may  laugh  at  her 
eloquence,  "  in  her  own  department  surpassing  Cicero's," 
and  sarcastically  relate  how  when  first  they  were  married, 
not  knowing  wliat  to  say,  but  wishing  to  "make  con- 
versation," slie  used  to  say,  as  she  sat  at  her  work  besido 
liim,  "  Ilerr  Doctor,  is  not  the  lord  high  chamberlain  ic 
Prussia  the  brother  of  the  margrave  ?"  hoping  that  such 
high  discourse  would  not  be  too  trifling  for  him !  lie 
says,  indeed,  that  if  he  were  to  seek  an  obedient  wife,  he 
would  carve  one  for  himself  out  of  stone.  But  the  belief 
among  us  is,  that  there  are  few  happier  homes  than  Dr. 
Luther's  ;  and  if  at  any  time  Catherine  finds  liim  oppressed 
with  a  sadness  too  deep  for  her  ministry  to  reach,  she 
quietly  creeps  out  and  calls  Justus  Jonas  or  some  other 
friend  to  come  and  cheer  the  Doctor.  Often,  also,  she  re- 
minds him  of  the  letters  he  has  to  write ;  and  he  likes  to 
have  her  sitting  by  him  while  he  writes,  which  is  a  proof 
sufficient  that  she  can  be  silent  when  necessary,  Avhatever 
jests  the  Doctor  may  make  about  her  "long  sermons, 
which  she  certainly  never  would  have  made,  if,  hke  other 
preachers,  she  had  taken  the  precaution  of  beginning  with 
the  Lord's  Prayer !" 

The  Christian  married  life,  as  he  says,  "  is  a  humble  and 
a  holy  life,"  and  well,  indeed,  is  it  for  our  German  Re- 
ormation  that  its  earthly  centre  is  neither  a  throne,  nor  a 
'lermitage,  but  a  lowly  Christian  home. 

Parsonage  of  Gersdorp,  June,  1537. 

I  AM  stajdng  with  Eva  while  Fritz  is  absent  making  a 
journey  of  inspection  of  the  schools  througliout  Sa.v- 
ony  at  Dr.  Luther's  desire,  with  Dr.  Philip  Melancthon, 
and  many  other  learned  men. 

Dr.  Luther  has  set  his  heart  on  improving  the  education 
of  the  children,  and  is  anxious  to  have  some  of  the  rovfc- 


470 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


nues  of  the  suppressed  convents  appropriated  to  this  pur 
pose  before  all  are  quietly  absorbed  by  the  nobles  and 
princes  for  their  own  uses. 

It  is  a  renewal  of  youth  to  me,  ii  my  sober  middle  age 
to  be  here  alone  with  Eva,  and  yet  not  alone.  For  the 
terror  of  my  youth  is  actually  under  our  roof  with  me. 
Aunt  Agnes  is  an  inmate  of  Fritz's  home !  During  the 
pillaging  of  the  convents  and  dispersing  of  the  nuns,  which 
took  place  in  the  dreadful  j^easants'  war,  she  was  driven 
from  Nimptschen,  and  after  spending  a  few  weeks  with 
our  mother  at  Wittenberg,  has  finally  taken  refuge  with 
Eva  and  Fritz. 

But  Eva's  little  twin  children,  Heinz  and  Agnes,  will 
associate  a  very  different  picture  with  the  name  of  Aunt 
Agnes  from  the  rigid,  lifeless  face  and  voice  which  used  to 
haunt  my  dreams  of  a  religious  life,  and  make  me  dread 
the  heaven,  of  whose  inhabitants,  I  was  told,  Aunt  Agnes 
was  a  type. 

Perhaps  the  white  hair  softens  the  high  but  furrowed 
brow ;  yet  surely  there  was  not  that  kindly  gleam  in  the 
grave  eyes  I  remember,  or  that  tender  tone  in  the  voice.  Is 
it  an  echo  of  the  voices  of  the  little  ones  she  so  dearly 
loves,  and  a  reflection  of  the  sunshine  in  their  eyes  ?  No ; 
better  than  that  even,  I  know,  because  Eva  told  me.  It  is 
the  smile  and  the  music  of  a  heart  made  as  that  of  a  little 
child  through  believing  in  the  Saviour.  It  is  the  peace  of 
the  Pharisee,  who  lias  won  the  publican's  blessing  by 
meekly  taking  the  publican's  place. 

I  confess,  however,  I  do  not  think  Aunt  Agnes's  pre- 
sence improves  the  discipline  of  Eva's  household.  She  ia 
exceedingly  slow  to  detect  any  traces  of  original  sin  in, 
Eva's  children,  while  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  the  wonder 
is  that  any  creature  so  good  and  exemplary  as  Eva  should 
have  childrea  so  much  like  other  people's — even  mine. 
One  would  have  thought  thai  her  infants  would  have  been 


ELSE'S  STOUT. 


47' 


a  kind  of  half  angels,  taking  naturally  to  all  good  things, 
and  never  doing  wrong  except  by  mistake  in  a  geutle  and 
moderate  way.  Whereas,  I  must  say,  I  hear  frequent 
little  waUs  of  rebellion  from  Eva's  nixrsery,  especially  at 
seasons  of  ablution,  much  as  from  mine ;  and  I  do  nol 
think  even  our  Fritz  ever  showed  more  decided  pleasure 
in  mischief,  or  more  determined  self-will,  than  Eva's  little 
rosy  Heinz. 

One  morning  after  a  rather  prolonged  little  battle  be- 
tween Heinz  and  his  mother  about  some  case  of  oppression 
of  little  Agnes,  I  suggested  to  Aunt  Agnes — 

"  Only  to  think  that  Eva,  if  she  had  kept  to  her  voca- 
tion, might  have  attained  to  the  full  ideal  of  the  '  Theologia 
Teutsch,'  have  become  a  St.  Elizabeth,  or  indeed  far  better !" 

Aunt  Agnes  looked  up  quickly — 

"And  you  mean  to  say  she  is  not  better  now !  You 
imagine  that  spinning  meditations  all  day  long  is  more 
Christian  work  for  a  woman  than  training  these  little  ones 
for  God,  and  helping  them  to  fight  their  first  battles  with 
the  devil !" 

"  Perhaps  not.  Aunt  Agnes,"  I  said,  "  but  then,  you  see 
I  know  nothing  of  the  inside  of  a  convent." 

"/ do"  said  Aunt  Agnes  emphatically,  " and  also  of  thfa 
inside  of  a  nun's  heart.  And  I  know  what  Avretched  work 
we  make  of  it  Avhen  we  try  to  take  our  education  out  of 
our  Heavenly  Father's  hands  into  our  own.  Do  you  think," 
she  continued,  "  Eva  did  not  learn  more  in  the  long  nights 
when  she  watched  over  her  sick  child  than  she  could  have 
learned  in  a  thousand  self-imposed  vigils  before  any  shrine  ? 
And  to-night,  when  she  kneels  with  Heinz,  as  she  will,  and 
Bays  with  him,  '  Pray  God  forgive  little  Heinz  for  being  a 
cross,  naughty  boy  to-day,'  and  lays  him  on  his  pillow,  and 
as  she  watches  him  fall  asleep,  asks  God  to  bless  and  train 
the  wilful  little  one,  and  then  asks  for  pardon  herself,  do 
you  not  think  she  learns  more  of  what  foi given ?S3  mean* 


47a  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILf. 

and  'Our  Father'  than  from  a  year's  study  of  the  'Theo. 
logia  Teutsch  ?'" 

I  smiled,  and  said,  "  Dear  Aunt  Agnes,  if  Fritz  wants 
to  hear  Eva's  praises  well  sung,  I  will  tell  him  to  suggest 
to  you  whether  it  might  not  have  been  a  higher  vocation 
for  her  to  remain  a  nun !" 

"Ah !  f'.hild,"  said  Aunt  Agnes,  w^itli  a  little  mingling  of 
the  old  sternness  and  the  new  tenderness  in  her  voice ;  "  if 
you  had  learned  what  I  have  from  those  lips,  and  in  this 
house,  you  could  not,  even  in  jest,  bear  to  hear  a  syllable 
of  reflection  on  either." 

Indeed,  even  Aunt  Agnes  cannot  honour  this  dear  home 
more  than  I  do.  Open  to  every  peasant  who  has  a  sor- 
row or  a  wrong  to  tell,  it  is  also  linked  with  the  castle ; 
and  linked  to  both,  not  by  any  class  j^rivileges,  but  because 
here  peasants  and  nobles  alike  are  welcomed  as  men  and 
women,  and  as  Christian  brothers  and  sisters. 

Now  and  then  we  jDay  a  visit  to  the  castle,  w^here  our 
noble  sister  Chriemhild  is  enthroned.  But  my  tastes  have 
ahvays  been  burgher  like,  and  the  parsonage  suits  me  much 
better  than  the  castle.  Besides,  I  cannot  hell?  feeling  some 
little  awe  of  Dame  Ilermantrud,  especially  when  my  two 
boys  are  with  me,  whe  are  apt  to  indulge  in  a  burgher 
freedom  in  their  demeanour.  The  furniture  and  arrange- 
ments of  the  castle  are  a  generation  behind  our  own  at 
Wittenberg,  and  I  cannot  at  all  make  the  boys  comprehend 
the  majesty  of  the  Gersdorf  ancestry,  nor  the  necessary 
inferiority  of  people  w^ho  live  in  streets  to  those  who  live 
m  isolated  rork  fortresses.  So  that  I  am  reduced  to  the 
Bible  law  of  "  honour  to  grey  hairs  "  to  enforce  due  respect 
to  Dame  Hermentrud. 

Little  Fritz  wants  to  know  what  the  Gersdorf  ancestry 
are  renowned  for.     "  Was  it  for  learning  ?"  be  asked. 

I  thought  not,  as  it  is  only  this  generation  who  hav« 
leamo<i  to  read,  and  the  old  knight  even  is  suspected  o/ 


ELSE  S  STORT. 


M\ 


having  strong  reasons  for  preferring  listening  to  Ukicb'* 
reading  to  using  a  book  for  liimself. 

"  Was  it  then  for  courage  ?" 

"  Certainly,  the  Gersdorfs  had  always  been  brave." 

"  With  whom,  then,  had  they  fought  ?" 

"  At  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  I  believed,  against  th 
intidels." 

"  And  since  then  ?" 

I  did  not  feel  sure,  but  looking  at  the  ruined  castle  (  f 
Bernstein  and  the  neighboring  height,  I  was  afraid  it  was 
against  their  neighbors. 

And  so,  after  much  cross  questioning,  the  distinctions  of 
the  Gersdorf  family  seemed  to  be  chiefly  reduced  to  their 
having  been  Gersdorfs,  and  having  lived  at  Gersdorf  for  a 
great  many  hundred  years. 

Then  Fritz  desired  to  know  in  what  way  his  cousins, 
the  Gersdorfs  of  this  generation,  are  to  distinguish  theni- 
selves  ?  This  question  also  was  a  perplexity  to  me,  as  I 
know  it  often  is  to  Chriemhild.  They  must  not  on  any  ac- 
count be  merchants;  and  now  that  in  the  Evangelical 
Church  the  great  abbeys  are  suppressed,  and  some  of  the 
bishoprics  are  to  be  secularized,  it  is  hardly  deemed  con- 
sistent with  Gersdorf  dignity  that  they  should  become 
clergymen.  The  eldest  will  have  the  castle.  One  of  them 
may  study  civil  law.  For  the  others  nothing  seems  open 
but  the  idling  dependent  life  of  pages  and  military  attend- 
ants in  the  castles  of  some  of  the  greater  nobles. 

If  the  past  is  the  inheritance  of  the  knights,  it  seems  to 
me  tlie  future  is  fir  more  likely  to  be  the  possession  of  the 
active  burgher  families.  I  cannot  but  feel  thankful  for  the 
lot  which  opens  to  our  boys  honorable  splieres  of  action  in 
the  great  cities  of  the  empire.  There  seems  no  room  for 
expansion  in  the  life  of  those  petty  nobles.  While  the 
patrician  families  of  the  cities  are  sailing  on  the  broad 
eunent  of  the  times,  encouraging  art,  advar>ciiig  learning. 


♦74 


TEE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


themsohes  sharing  all  tlie  thought  and  progress  of  the 
time,  these  knightly  families  in  the  country  remain  isolated 
m  their  grim  castles,  ruling  over  a  few  peasants,  and  fet 
tered  to  a  narrow  local  circle,  while  the  great  current  of 
the  age  sweeps  by  them. 

Gottfried  says,  narrow  and  ill-used  privileges  always  end 
in  ruining  those  who  bigotedly  cling  to  them.  The  ex 
olusiveness  which  begins  with  shutting  others  out,  com- 
monly ends  in  shutting  the  exclusive  in.  The  loi'dly  for- 
tress becomes  the  narrow  prison. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind  as  I  left  the 
rush-strewn  floor  of  the  hall  where  Dame  Hermentrud  had 
received  me  and  my  boys,  with  a  lofty  condescension, 
while,  in  the  course  of  the  interview,  I  had  heard  her 
Beoretly  remarking  to  Chriemhild  how  unlike  the  cousins 
were  ;  "  it  was  quite  singular  how  entirely  the  Gersdorf 
children  were  nnlike  the  Cottas." 

But  it  was  not  until  I  entered  Eva's  lowly  home,  that  1 
detected  the  bitter  root  of  wounded  pride  from  which  my 
deep  social  speculations  sprang.  I  had  been  avenging 
myself  on  the  Schonberg-Gersdorf  past  by  means  of  th« 
Cotta-Reichenbach  future.  Yes  ;  Fritz  and  Eva's  lowly 
home  is  nobler  than  Chriemhild's,  and  richer  than  ours ; 
richer  and  nobler  just  in  as  far  as  it  is  more  lowly  and 
more  Christian ! 

And  I  learned  my  lesson  after  this  manner. 

"  Dame  Hermentrud  is  very  proud,"  I  said  to  Eva,  as 
returned  from  the  castle  and  sat  down  beside  her  in  tho 
porch,  where  she  was  sewing ;  "  and  I  really  cannot  see 
on  what  ground." 

Eva  made  no  reply,  but  a  little  amused  smile  played 
about  her  mouth,  which  for  the  moment  rather  aggravated 
me. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  she  is  not  proud,  Eva  T'  I  con^ 
inued  controversially. 


ELSE'S  STOUT. 


^7S 


*  I  did  not  mean  to  say  that  any  one  was  not  proud," 
B    I  Eva. 

*  Did  you  mean  then  to  imply  that  she  has  anything  to 
be  proud  of?" 

"  There  are  all  the  ghosts  of  all  the  Gersdorfs,"  said 
Eva ;  "  and  there  is  the  high  ancestral  privilege  of  Aveaiv 
ing  velvet  and  pearls,  which  you  and  I  dare  not  assume." 

*'  Surely,"  said  I,  "  the  privilege  of  possessing  Lucaa 
Cranach's  pictures,  and  Albrecht  Diirer's  carvingh,  is  bet- 
ter than  that." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Eva  demurely  ;  "  perhaps  wealth 
is  as  firm  ground  for  pride  to  build  on  as  ancestral  rank. 
Those  who  have  neither,  like  Fritz  and  I,  may  be  the  most 
candid  judges." 

I  laughed,  and  felt  a  cloud  pass  from  my  heart.  Eva 
had  dared  to  call  the  sprite  Avhich  vexed  me  by  his  right 
name,  and  like  any  other  gnome  or  cobold,  he  vanished  in- 
stantly. 

Thank  God  our  Eva  is  Cousin  Eva  again,  instead  of 
Sister  Ave ;  that  her  single  heart  is  here  among  us  to  flash 
the  light  on  our  consciences  just  by  shining,  instead  of 
being  hidden  under  a  saintly  canopy  in  the  shrine  of  soma 
distant  convent. 

July,  1527. 

FRITZ  is  at  home.  It  was  delightful  to  see  what  a 
festival  his  return  was,  not  only  in  the  home,  but  in 
the  village — the  children  running  to  the  doors  to  receive  a 
6mile,  the  mothers  stop^jing  in  their  work  to  welcome  him. 
The  day  after  his  return  was  Sunday.  As  usual,  (he 
children  of  the  village  were  assembled  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  to  church.  Among  them  Avere  our  boys,  and 
Chriemhild's,  and  Eva's  twins,  Ileinz  and  Agnes  —  rosy, 
merry  children  of  the  forest  as  they  are.  All,  liowever. 
iookod  as  good  and  sweet  as  if  they  had  been  children  ol 


476  THE  SCnONBEUG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

Eden,  as  they  tripped  tliat  morning  after  eacli  other  ovei 
the  village  green,  their  bright  little  forms  passing  in  and 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  great  beech-tree  which  stands 
opposite  the  church. 

The  little  company  all  stood  together  in  the  church  be- 
fore the  altar,  while  Fritz  stood  on  the  step  and  taught, 
them.  At  first  they  sang  a  hymn,  the  elder  boys  in  Latin, 
and  then  altogether  in  German  ;  and  then  Fritz  heard  them 
say  Luther's  Catechism.  How  sweetly  the  lisping,  cliild- 
ish  voices  answered  his  deep,  manly  voice;  like  the  rust- 
ling of  countless  summer  leaves  outside,  or  the  fall  of  the 
countless  tiny  cascades  of  the  village  stream  in  the  still 
summer  morning. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  art  thou  ?"  he  said. 

Answered  from  the  score  of  little  hushed,  yet  ringing 
voices — 

"  I  am  a  Christian." 

"  How  dost  thou  know  that?" 

"Because  I  am  baptized,  and -believe  on  my  dear  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

"  What  is  it  needful  that  a  Christian  should  know  for 
his  salvation  ?" 

Answer — "  The  Catechism." 

And  afterwards,  in  the  part  concerning  the  Christian 
faith,  the  sweet  voices  repeated  the  Creed  in  German. 

"  I  believe  in  God  the  Father  Almighty." 

And  Fritz's  A^oice  asked  gently — 

'•  What  does  that  mean  ?" 

Answer — "  I  believe  that  God  has  created  me  and  all 
creatures ;  has  given  me  body  and  soul,  eyes,  ears,  and  al3 
my  limbs,  reason,  and  all  my  senses,  and  still  preserves 
them  to  me ;  and  that  he  has  also  given  me  my  clothes  and 
my  shoes,  and  whatsoever  I  eat  or  drink ;  that  richly  and 
daily  he  provides  me  with  all  needful  nourishment  for  body 
End  life,  and  guards  me  from  all  danger  and  evil ;  and  ali 


ELSirS  STORY. 


177 


Ihis  out  of  pine  fatherly  divine  goodness  and  mercy,  witb« 
out  any  merit  or  deserving  of  mine.  And  for  all  this  I  am 
bound  to  thank  and  praise  him,  and  also  to  serve  and  obey 
him.     This  is  certainly  true." 

Again — 

"  I  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,"  etc. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?" 

"  I  believe  that  Jesus  Christ,  true  God,  begotten  of  the 
Father  from  eternity,  and  also  true  man,  born  of  the  Vir- 
gin Mary,  is  my  Lord,  who  has  redeemed  me,  a  lost  and 
condemned  human  creature,  has  purchased  and  won  me 
from  all  sins,  from  death  and  from  the  power  of  the  devil, 
not  with  silver  and  gold,  but  with  his  own  holy  precious 
blood,  and  with  his  innocent  sufi'ering  and  dying,  that  I 
may  be  his  OAvn,  and  live  in  his  kingdom  under  him,  and 
serve  him  in  endless  righteousness,  innocence,  and  blessed 
ness,  even  as  he  is  risen  from  the  dead,  and  lives  and 
reigns  for  ever.     This  is  certainly  true." 

And  again, 

"  I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost." 

"  What  does  that  mean?" 

*'  I  believe  that  not  by  my  own  reason  or  power  can  I  be- 
lieve on  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord,  or  come  to  him ;  but  the 
Holy  Ghost  has  called  me  through  the  Gospel,  enlightened 
me  with  his  gifts,  sanctified  and  kept  me  in  the  right  faith,  as 
he  calls  all  Christian  people  on  earth,  gathers,  enlightens 
eanctifies  them,  and  through  Jesus  keeps  them  in  the  righ 
and  only  faith,  among  which  Christian  people  he  daily 
richly  forgives  all  sins,  to  me  and  all  believers,  and  at  the 
last  day  will  awaken  me  and  all  the  dead,  and  to  me  and 
all  believers  in  Christ  will  give  eternal  life.  This  is  ccr 
tainly  true." 

And  again,  on  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  children's  \oic«i 
oegan, — 

"  Our  Fatber  who  art  in  heaven." 


478  TEE  SCHGNBERO-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

"  Whnt  does  that  mean  ?" 

"  God  will  in  this  way  sweetly  persuade  us  to  believi 
that  he  is  our  true  Father,  and  that  we  are  his  true  ohil- 
di'en ;  that  cheerfully  and  with  all  confidence  we  may  ask 
of  him  as  dear  children  ask  of  their  dear  fathers." 

And  at  the  end, 

"  What  does  Amen  mean  ?" 

"  That  I  should  be  sure  such  prayers  are  acceptable  to 
the  Father  in  heaven,  and  granted  by  him,  for  he  himself 
has  taught  us  thus  to  pray,  and  promised  that  he  will  heai 
us.  Amen,  amen  —  that  means,  Yes,  yes^  that  shall  he 
done^ 

And  when  it  was  asked, — 

"  Who  receives  the  holy  sacrament  worthily  ?" 

Softly  came  the  answer, — 

"  He  is  truly  and  rightly  prepared  who  has  faith  in  these 
words,  '  Given  and  shed  for  you,  for  the  forgiveness  of 
Bins.'  But  he  who  doubts  or  disbelieves  these  words,  ia 
unworthy  and  unprepared ;  for  the  words,  '•for  rjoxt^  need 
simple  believing  hearts." 

As  I  hstened  to  the  simple  living  words,  I  could  not 
wonder  that  Dr.  Luther  often  rei^eats  them  to  himself,  or 
rather,  as  he  says,  "  to  God^''  as  an  antidote  to  the  fiery 
darts  of  the  wicked  one. 

And  so  the  childish  voices  died  away  in  the  morning 
stillness  of  the  church,  and  the  shadows  of  the  columns  fell 
silently  across  the  grassy  mounds  or  wooden  crosses, 
beneath  which  rest  the  village  dead ;  and  as  we  went 
home,  the  long  shadow  of  the  beech-tree  fell  on  tho  dewy 
village  green. 

Then,  before  eleven  o'clock,  the  church  bell  began  to 
ring,  and  tho  peasants  came  trooping  from  the  diiferent 
clearings  of  the  forest.  One  by  one  we  watched  the 
various  groups  in  their  bright  holiday  dresses,  issuing  out 
of  the  depths  of  dark  green  shade,  among  them,  doubtless. 


KLasrS  STORT.  4.79 

many  a  biancli  of  the  Luther  family  who  live  in  this  neigh- 
bourliood.  Afterwards  each  door  in  the  village  poured  out 
its  contributions,  and  soon  the  little  church  Avas  full,  the 
men  and  women  seated  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the  church, 
and  the  aged  gathered  around  the  pulpit.  Fritz's  text  was 
Evji's  motto,  "  God  so  loved  (he  world.''''  Simply,  with  illus- 
trations such  as  they  could  understand,  he  spoke  to  their 
of  God's  infinite  love,  and  the  infinite  cost  at  which  he  had 
redeemed  us,  and  of  the  love  and  trust  and  obedience  we 
owe  him,  and,  according  to  Dr.  Luther's  advice,  he  did 
not  speak  too  long,  but  "•  called  black  black,  and  white 
white,  keeping  to  one  simple  subject,  so  that  the  people 
may  go  away  and  say, '  The  sermon  tvas,  about  this.''  "  For, 
as  I  heard  Dr.  Luther  say,  "We  must  not  speak  to  the 
common  people  of  high  difii(Milt  things,  or  with  mysterious 
words.  To  the  church  come  little  children,  maid-servants, 
old  men  and  Avomen,  to  whom  high  doctrine  teaches  no- 
thing. For,  if  they  say  about  it,  '  Ah,  he  said  excellent 
things,  he  has  made  a  fine  sermon  !'  And  one  asks,  'What 
about,  then  ?'  they  reply, '  I  know  not.'  Let  us  remember 
what  pains  our  Lord  Christ  took  to  preach  simply.  From 
the  vineyard,  from  the  sheepfold,  from  trees,  he  drew  his 
illustrations,  all  that  the  people  might  feel  and  understand." 

That  sermon  of  Fritz's  left  a  deep  rest  in  my  heart.  lie 
spoke  not  of  justification,  and  redemption  merely,  but  of 
God  redeeming  and  justifying  us.  Greater  service  can  no 
one  render  us  than  to  recall  to  us  what  God  has  done  for 
us,  and  how^  he  really  and  tenderly  cares  for  us. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  children  Avere  gathered  for  a  little 
while  in  the  schoolroom,  and  questioned  about  the  sermon. 
At  sunset  again  we  all  met  for  a  short  service  in  the  church, 
and  sang  evening  hymns  in  German,  after  which  the  pastor 
pronounced  the  benediction,  and  the  little  community  scat- 
tored  once  more  to  their  various  homes. 

With  the  quiet  sunshine,  and  the  aght  shed  on  the  houia 


^8o  THE  SCH6NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

by  Fritz's  return,  to-day  seemed  to  me  almost  like  a  daf 
in  Paradise. 

Thank  God  again  and  again  for  Dr.  Luther,  and  espe" 
cially  for  these  two  great  benefits  given  back  to  us  through 
him — first,  that  he  has  unsealed  the  fountain  of  God's  Word 
from  the  icy  fetters  of  the  dead  language,  and  sent  it  flow- 
ing through  the  land,  everywhere  wakening  winter  into 
spring ;  and  secondly,  that  he  has  vindicated  the  sanctity 
of  marriage  and  the  home  life  it  constitutes;  unsaaling  the 
grave-stones  of  the  convent  gates,  and  sending  forth  the 
religion  entranced  and  buried  there,  to  bles»  the  world  in  a 
thousand  lowly-,  holy,  Chi-istian  homes  surt  as  this. 

THEKLA'S   STORY. 

"WiTTENBEB'.i,  SeptemheT^  1537. 

I  HAVE  said  it  from  my  heart  at  last  yes,  I  am  sure  I 
say  it  from  my  heart,  and  if  with  a  broken  heart,  God 
will  not  despise  that. 

"  0^lr  Father  which  art  in  heaven,  thy  will,  not  mine  be 
doneP 

I  thought  I  could  bear  anything  better  than  suspense ; 
out  I  had  no  idea  what  a  blank  of  despair  the  certainty 
would  bring. 

Then  came  dreadful  rebellious  thoughts,  that  God  should 
let  him  die  alone !  and  tlien  recurred  to  my  heart  all  they 
had  said  to  me  about  not  making  idols,  and  I  began  to 
fear  I  had  never  really  loved  or  worshipped  God  at  all, 
but  only  Bertrand  ;  and  then  came  a  long  time  of  blank  and 
darkness  into  which  no  light  of  human  or  divine  love  or 
voices  of  comfort  seemed  in  the  least  to  penetrate.  I 
thought  God  would  never  receive  me  until  I  could  say, 
"  Thy  will  be  done,"  and  this  I  could  not  say. 

The  first  words  I  remember  that  seemed  to  convey  any 
meaning  to  me  at  all,  were  some  of  Dr.  Iiuther's  in  a  8ei> 


THEKLA'S  STOUT.  481 

mon.  He  said  it  was  easy  to  believe  in  God's  pardoning 
love  in  times  of  p«ace,  but  in  times  of  temptation  when 
the  devil  assailed  the  soul  with  all  his  fiery  darts,  he  him- 
Belf  found  it  hard,  indeed,  to  hold  to  the  truth  he  knew  so 
well,  that  Christ  was  not  a  severe  judge,  or  a  hard  exacter, 
but  a  forgiving  Saviour,  indeed  love  itself  pure  unalter 
Able  love. 

Then  I  began  to  imderstand  it  was  the  devil,  the  malig- 
nant exacting  evil  spirit  that  I  had  been  listening  to  in  the 
darkness  of  my  heart,  that  it  was  he  who  had  been  per- 
suading me  I  must  not  dare  to  go  to  my  Father,  before  1 
could  bring  him  a  perfectly  submissive  heart. 

And  then  I  remembered  the  words,  "  Come  unto  me, 
ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden ; "  and,  alone  in  my 
room,  I  fell  on  my  knees,  and  cried,  "  O  blessed  Saviour, 

0  heavenly  Father,  I  am  not  subniissive ;  but  I  am  weary, 
weary  and  heavy-laden  ;  and  I  come  to  thee.  Wilt  thou 
take  me  as  I  am,  and  teach  me  in  time  to  say,  '  Thy  will 
be  done  ? ' "''  And  he  received  me,  and  in  time  he  has 
taught  me.  At  least  I  can  say  so  to-night.  To-morrow^ 
perhaps,  the  old  rebellion  will  come  back.     But  if  it  does, 

1  will  go  again  to  our  heavenly  Father  and  say  again, 
"  Xot  submissive  yet,  only  heavy-laden !  Father,  take  my 
hand,  and  say,  begin  again !  " 

Because  amidst  all  these  happy  homes  I  felt  so  unneces- 
eary  to  any  one,  and  so  imutterably  lonely.  I  longed  for 
the  old  convents  to  bury  myself  in,  away  from  all  joyoug 
ftuimds.  But,  thank  God,  they  were  closed  for  me ;  and  1 
do  not  wish  for  them  now. 

Dr.  Luther  began  to  help  me  by  showing  me  hD"w  the 
devil  had  been  keeping  me  from  God. 

And  now  God  lias  helped  me  by  sending  through  my 
heart  again  a  glow  of  thankfulness  and  love. 

The  plague  has  been  at  Wittenberg  again.  Dr.  Luther's 
house  has  been  turned  into  a  hospital ;  for  dear  as  are  hi* 
21 


482  TEE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Kiithe  and  his  little  Hans  to  him  he  would  not  flee  from 
the  dangei",  any  more  than  years  ago,  when  he  was  a 
monk  in  the  convent  which  is  now  his  home. 

An<l  Avhat  a  blessing  his  strong  and  faithful  words  have 
l>een  among  us,  from  the  pulpit,  by  the  dying  bed,  or  in 
iho  house  of  mourning. 

But  it  is  tlirough  my  precious  mother  that  God  has 
pok«n  to  my  heart,  and  made  me  feel  he  does  indeed  sus 
tain,  and  care,  and  listen.  She  was  so  nearly  gone.  And 
now  she  is  recovering.  They  say  the  danger  is  over. 
And  never  more  will  I  say  in  my  heart,  "  To  me  only  God 
gives  no  home,"  or  fear  to  let  my  heart  entwine  too  closely 
round  those  God  has  left  me  to  love,  because  of  the  an- 
guisli  when  that  clasp  is  severed.  I  will  take  the  joy  and 
the  love  with  all  its  possibilities  of  sorrow,  and  trust  ic 
God  for  both. 

Perhaps,  also,  God  may  have  some  little  work  of  love 
for  me  to  do,  some  especial  service  even  for  me,  to  make 
me  needed  in  the  world  as  long  as  I  am  here.  For  to  day 
Justus  Jonas,  who  has  lost  his  little  son  in  the  plague, 
came  to  me  and  said, — 

"  Thekla,  come  and  see  my  wife.  She  says  you  can  com- 
fort her,  for  you  can  compreliend  sorrow." 

Of  course  I  went.  I  do  not  think  I  said  anything  to 
comfort  her.  I  could  do  little  else  but  weep  with  her,  ad 
I  looked  on  the  little,  innocent,  placid,  lifeless  face.  But 
when  I  left  her,  she  said  I  had  done  her  good,  and  begged 
018  to  come  again. 

So,  perhaps,  God  has  some  blessed  services  for  me  to 
render  him,  which  I  could  only  have  learned  as  he  has 
taught  me;  and  when  we  meet  hereafter,  Bertrand  and  I, 
and  hear  that  dear  divine  and  hrjnan  voice  that  has  led  us 
through  the  world,  we  together  shall  be  glad  of  all  this 
bitter  pain  that  we  endured  and  felt,  and  give  thajiks  foi 
it  for  ever  and  for  ever  1 


XX. 


ELSE'S    STORY. 


Wittenberg,  May^  1520. 
P  all  the  happy  homes  God  has  given  to  Ger- 
many through  Dr.  Luther,  I  think  none  are 
happier  than  his  own. 

The  walls  of  the  Augustine  convent  echo 
now  with  the  pattering  feet  and  ringing  voices  of  little 
children,  and  every  night  the  angels  watch  over  the  sanc- 
tuary of  a  home.  The  birthdays  of  Dr.  Luther's  children 
are  festivals  to  us  all,  and  more  especially  the  birthday  of 
little  Hans  the  first-born  was  so. 

Yet  death  also  has  been  in  that  bright  home.  Their 
second  child,  a  babe,  Elizabeth,  was  early  taken  from  her 
parents.  Dr.  Luther  grieved  over  her  much,  A  liltle 
while  after  her  death  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Ilausmann  : — 
"  Grace  and  peace.  My  Johannulus  thanks  thee,  best 
Nicholas,  for  the  rattle,  in  which  he  glories  and  rejoicei 
wondrously. 

"I  have  begun  to  write  something  about  the  Turkish 
war,  which  will  not,  1  hope,  be  useless. 

"  My  little  daughter  is  dead  ;  my  darling  little  Eliza- 
oeth.  It  is  strange  how  sick  and  wounded  she  has  left  my 
heart,  almost  as  tender  as  a  woman's,  such  ])ity  moves  me 
for  that  little  one.     I  never  could  have  believed  beforfl 

USS) 


484  THE  8CE0KBERO-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

wliufc  is  the  tenderness  of  a  father's  heart  for  his  cLildren. 
Do  thou  pray  to  the  Lord  for  me,  in  whom  fare-thee-well.'' 

Catherine  von  Bora  is  honom-ed  and  beloved  by  all. 
Some  indeed  complain  of  her  being  too  economical ;  but 
"what  would  become  of  Dr.  Luther  and  his  family  if  she 
were  as  reckless  in  giving  as  he  is  ?  He  has  been  known 
eveji  to  take  advantage  of  her  illness  to  bestow  his  2)late 
on  some  needy  student.  He  never  will  receive  a  kreuzer 
from  the  students  he  teaches ;  and  he  refuses  to  sell  his 
writings,  which  provokes  both  Gottfried  and  me,  noble  as 
it  is  of  him,  because  the  great  profits  they  bring  would 
surely  be  better  spent  by  Dr.  Luther  than  by  the  printers 
who  get  them  now.  Our  belief  is,  that  were  it  not  for 
Mistress  Luther,  the  whole  household  would  have  long 
since  been  reduced  to  beggary,  and  Dr.  Luther,  who  does 
not  scruple  to  beg  of  the  Elector  or  of  any  Avealthy  per- 
son for  the  needs  of  others  (although  never  for  his  own), 
knows  well  how  precarious  such  a  livelihood  is. 

His  wife  does  not,  however,  always  succeed  in  restrain- 
ing his  propensities  to  give  everything  away.  Not  long 
ago,  in  defiance  of  her  remonstrating  looks,  in  her  pres- 
ence he  bestowed  on  a  student  who  came  to  him  asking 
money  to  help  him  home  from  the  university,  a  silver  gob- 
let which  had  been  presented  to  him,  saying  that  he  had 
no  need  to  drink  out  of  silver. 

We  all  feel  the  tender  care  with  wyhich  she  watches  over 
his  health,  a  gift  to  the  whole  land.  His  strength  has 
never  quite  recovered  the  strain  on  it  during  those  years 
of  conflict  and  penance  in  <^he  monastery  at  Erfurt.  And 
It  is  often  strained  to  the  utmost  now.  All  the  monks 
and  nuns  "vho  have  renounced  their  idle  maintenance  in 
crmvents  for  conscience  sake ;  all  congregations  that  desire 
an  evangelical  pastor  ;  all  people  of  all  kinds  in  trouble  of 
mind,  body,  or  estate,  turn  to  Dr.  Luther  for  aid  or  coun- 
sel, as  to  the  warmest  heart  and  the  clearest  head  in  th« 


ELSE'S  STORY.  483 

land.  His  correspondence  is  incessant,  embr icing  and 
answc'ing  every  variety  of  perplexity,  from  counsellino' 
evangelical  princes  how  best  to  reform  their  states,  to 
directions  to  some  humble  Christian  woniar  how  to  find 
peace  for  her  conscience  in  Christ.  And  besides  the  count- 
less applications  to  him  for  advice,  his  large  lieart  seems 
always  at  leisure  to  listen  to  the  appeal  of  the  persecuted 
far  and  near,  or  to  the  cry  of  the  bereaved  and  sorrowful. 

Where  shall  we  find  the  spring  of  all  this  activity  but 
in  the  Bible,  of  which  he  says,  "  There  are  few  trees  in 
that  garden  which  I  have  not  shaken  for  fruit ;"  and  in 
prayer,  of  wh.ch  he,  the  busiest  man  in  Christendom  (as  if 
he  were  a  contemplative  hermit),  says,  "  Prayer  is  the  Chris- 
tian's business  (Das  Gebet  est  des  Christen  Ilandwei'k)." 

Yes,  it  is  the  leisure  he  makes  for  prayer  which  gives 
him  leisure  for  all  besides.  It  is  the  hours  passed  with  the 
life-giving  Word  which  make  sermons,  and  correspondence, 
and  teaching  of  all  kinds  to  him  simply  the  out-pourhig 
of  a  full  heart. 

Yet  such  a  life  wears  out  too  quickly.  More  than  once 
has  Mistress  Luther  been  in  sore  anxiety  about  him  during 
the  four  years  they  have  been  married. 

Once,  in  1527,  when  little  Hans  was  the  baby,  and  he 
believed  he  should  soon  have  to  leave  her  a  widow  with 
the  fatherless  little  one,  he  said  rather  sadly  he  had  noth- 
ing to  leave  her  but  the  silver  tankards  which  had  been 
■)resented  to  him. 

"  Dear  Doctor,"  she  replied,  "  if  it  be  God's  will,  then 

, !  also  choose  that  you  be  with  him  rather  than  with  me. 

It  is  not  so  much  I  and  my  child  even  that  need  you  as 

the  multitude  of  pious  Christians.     Trouble  yourself  not 

about  me." 

What  her  courageous  hopefulness  and  her  tender  watch- 
fulness have  been  to  him,  he  snowed  when  he  said, — 

"I  am  too  apt  to  expect  more  fiom  my  Kiilhe,  and  fioa 


486  THE  aCHONBERO^rjOTTA  FAMILY. 

Melancthon,  than  I  do  from  Christ  my  liord.  And  yet  I 
well  know  tliat  neither  they  nor  any  one  on  earth  has  suf- 
fered, or  can  sulFer,  what  he  hath  suffered  for  me." 

But  although  incessant  work  may  weigh  upon  his  body, 
there  are  severer  trials  which  weigh  upon  his  spirit.  The 
heart  so  quick  to  every  touch  of  affection  or  pleasure  caii' 
not  but  be  sensitive  to  injustice  or  disappointment.  It 
cannot  therefore  be  easy  for  him  to  bear  that  at  one  time 
it  should  be  perilous  for  him  to  travel  on  account  of  the 
indignation  of  the  nobles,  whose  relatives  he  has  rescued 
Irom  nunneries ;  and  at  another  time  equally  unsafe  be- 
cause of  the  indignation  of  the  peasants,  for  whom,  though 
he  boldly  and  openly  denounced  their  mad  insurrection,  he 
pleads  fervently  with  nobles  and  princes. 

But  bitterer  than  all  other  things  to  him,  are  the  divi- 
sions among  evangelical  Christians.  Every  truth  he  be- 
lieves flashes  on  his  mind  with  such  overwhelming  convic- 
tion, that  it  seems  to  him  nothing  but  incomprehensible 
W  ilfulness  for  any  one  else  not  to  see  it.  Every  convictiop 
he  holds,  he  holds  with  the  grasp  of  one  ready  to  die  for 
it — not  only  with  the  tenacity  of  possession,  but  of  a  sol- 
dinr  to  whom  its  defence  has  been  intrusted.  He  would 
not,  indeed,  have  any  put  to  death  or  imprisoned  for  their 
misbelief.  But  hold  out  the  hand  of  fellowship  to  those 
who  betray  any  part  of  his  Lord's  trust,  he  thinks, — how 
dare  he  ?  Are  a  few  peaceable  days  to  be  purchased  at 
the  saci'ifice  of  eternal  truth  ? 

And  so  the  division  has  taken  place  between  us  and  the 
Swiss. 

My  Gretchen  perplexed  me  the  other  day,  when  we 
were  coming  from  the  city  church,  where  Dr.  Luther  had 
been  preaching  against  the  Anabaptists  and  the  Swiss, 
whom  he  wil-  persist  in  classing  together,  by  saying, — 

"Mother,  is  not  Uncle  Winkelried  a  Swiss,  and  is  he  uot 
&  good  man  ?' 


ELSE'S  8T0RT  ^g, 

"  Of  course  U  ncle  Conrad  is  a  good  man,  Gretchen,' 
rejciiied  our  Fritz,  who  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  to 
Atlantis  and  Conrad.  "How  can  you  ask  such  ques- 
tions ?" 

"But  he  is  a  Swiss,  and  Dr.  Lutlier  said  we  must  take 
care  not  to  be  like  the  Swiss,  because  they  say  wicked 
Jiings  about  the  holy  sacraments." 

"  I  am  sure  Uncle  Conrad  does  not  say  wicked  things," 
retorted  Fritz,  vehemently.  "  I  think  he  is  almost  the  best 
man  I  ever  saw.  Mother,"  he  continued,  "  why  does  Dr. 
Luther  speak  so  of  the  Swiss  ?" 

"You  see,  Fritz,"  I  said,  "  Dr.  Luther  never  stayed  six 
\uonths  among  them  as  you  did ;  and  so  he  has  never  seen 
how  good  they  are  at  home." 

"  Then,"  rejoined  Fritz,  sturdily,  "  if  Dr.  Luther  has  not 
been,  I  do  not  think  he  should  speak  so  of  them." 

I  was  driven  to  have  recourse  to  maternal  authority  to 
close  the  discussion,  reminding  Fritz  that  he  was  a  little 
boy,  and  could  not  pretend  to  judge  of  good  and  great 
men  like  Dr.  Luther.  But,  indeed,  I  could  not  help  halt 
agreeing  with  the  child.  It  was  impossible  to  make  him 
understand  how  Dr.  Luther  has  fought  his  way  inch  by 
inch  to  the  freedom  in  which  we  noAV  stand  at  ease ;  how 
he  detests  the  Zwhiglian  doctrines,  not  so  much  for  them- 
selves, as  for  what  he  thinks  they  imply.  IIow  will  it  be 
possible  to  make  our  children,  who  enter  on  the  peaceful 
inheritance  so  dearly  won,  understand  the  rough,  soldiery 
/ehemence,  of  the  warrior  race,  who  reconquered  that  iu- 
Leritance  for  them  ? 

As  Dr.  Luther  says,  "  It  is  not  a  little  thing  to  change 
the  whole  religion  and  doctrine  of  the  papacy.  How 
hard  it  has  been  to  me,  they  will  see  in  that  Day.  Now  no 
one  believes  it !" 

God  a])pointed  David  to  fight  the  wars  of  Israel,  and 
Solomon  to  build  the  temple.     Dr.  Luther  has  had  to  do 


4.88  THE  SCnONBERO  COTTA  FAMILY. 

both      V\'ont  wonder  if  tlie  hand  of  the  soldier  can  S(rmo 
times  be  traced  in  the  work  of  peace ! 

Fet,  why  should  I  perplex  myself  about  this  ?  Soon, 
loo  soon,  death  will  come,  and  consecrate  the  virtues  of 
our  generation  to  our  children,  and  throw  a  softening  veil 
over  cur  mistakes. 

E^en  now  that  Dr.  Luther  is  absent  from  us  at  Coburg, 
u  the  castle  there,  how  precious  his  letters  are;  and  how 
doubly  sacred  the  words  j^reaclied  to  us  last  Sunday  from 
the  pulpit,  now  that  to-morrow  we  are  not  to  hear  him. 

He  is  placed  in  the  castle  at  Coburg,  in  order  to  be 
nearer  the  Diet  at  Augsburg,  so  as  to  aid  Dr.  Melancthon, 
who  is  there,  with  his  counsel.  The  Elector  dare  not 
trust  the  royal  heart  and  straightforward  spirit  of  our 
Luther  among  the  prudent  diplomatists  at  the  Diet. 

Mistress  Luther  is  having  a  portrait  taken  of  their  little 
Magdalen,  who  is  now  a  year  old,  and  especially  dear  to 
the  Doctor,  to  send  to  him  in  the  fortress. 

June^  1530. 

LETTERS  have  arrived  from  and  about  Dr.  Luther. 
His  father  is  dead — the  brave,  persevering,  self-deny- 
ing truthful  old  man,  who  had  stamped  so  much  of  his  own 
character  on  his  son.  "  It  is  meet  I  should  mourn  such  a 
parent,"  Luther  writes,  "  who  through  the  sweat  of  his 
brow  had  nurtured  and  educated  me,  and  made  me  what  I 
am."  He  felt  it  keenly,  especially  since  he  could  not  be 
with  his  father  at  the  last ;  although  he  gives  thanks  that 
he  lived  in  these  times  of  light,  and  departed  strong  in  th 
faith  of  Christ.  Dr.  Luther's  secretary  writes,  however 
that  the  portrait  of  his  little  Magdalen  comforts  him  much. 
He  has  hung  it  on  the  wall  opposite  to  the  place  where  ho 
sits  at  meals. 

Dr.  Luther  is  now  the  eldest  of  iiis  race.  He  stands  in 
the  foremost  rank  of  the  genera'aons  slowly  advincing  tc 
confront  death 


ELSE'S  STOBY.  489 

To-day  I  have  been  sitting  with  Mistress  liiitlier  iu  th« 
garden  beliind  the  Augustei,  undei*  the  shade  of  the  pear- 
ti*ee,  where  she  so  often  sits  beside  the  Doctor.  Our 
children  were  plajdng  around  ns — her  little  Hanschen  with 
the  boys,  while  the  little  Magdalen  sat  cooing  like  a  dove 
over  some  flowers,  Avhich  she  was  pulling  to  pieces,  on  the 
grass  at  our  feet. 

She  talked  to  me  much  about  the  Doctor ;  how  dearly 
he  loves  the  little  ones,  and  what  lessons  of  divine  love  and 
wisdom  he  learns  from  their  little  plays. 

lie  says  often,  that  beautiful  :is  all  God's  works  are,  little 
children  are  the  fairest  of  all ;  that  the  dear  angels  especi- 
ally watch  over  them.  He  is  very  tender  with  them,  and 
says  sometimes  they  are  better  theologians  than  he  is,  for 
they  trust  God.  Deeper  i:)rayers  and  higher  theology  he 
nsver  hopes  to  reach  than  the  first  the  little  ones  learn— 
the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Catechism.  Often,  she  said,  ho 
Bays  over  the  Catechism,  to  remind  himself  of  all  the  trea. 
sures  of  faith  we  possess. 

It  is  delightful  too,  she  says,  to  listen  to  the  heavenly 
theology  he  draws  from  birds  and  leaves  and  flowers,  and 
the  commonest  gifts  of  God  or  events  of  life.  At  table,  a 
dish  of  fruit  will  open  to  him  a  whole  volume  of  God's 
bounty,  on  which  he  will  discourse.  Or,  taking  a  rose  in 
his  hand,  he  will  say,  "  A  man  who  could  make  one  rose 
like  this  would  be  accounted  most  wonderful ;  and  God 
scatters  countless  such  flowers  around  us!  But  the  very 
infinity  of  his  gifts  makes  us  blind  to  them." 

And  one  evening,  he  said  of  a  little  bird,  warbling  its 
last  little  song  before  it  went  to  roost,  "  Ah,  dear  little 
bird  !  he  has  chosen  his  shelter,  and  is  quietly  rocking  him 
self  to  sleep,  without  a  care  for  to-morrow's  lodging 
calmly  h(>lding  by  his  little  twig,  and  leaving  God  to  think 
for  him." 

In  spring  he  loves  to  direc'.   her  attention  in  tlio  littl* 
21* 


^90  THE  iSCnONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

points  aid  tufts  of  life  peeping  everywhere  from  the  brows 
earth  or  tlie  bare  brandies.  "  Who,"  he  said,  "  tliat  liad 
never  Avitnessed  a  spring-time  would  have  guessed,  two 
months  since,  that  these  lifeless  branches  held  concealed  ail 
that  hidden  power  of  life?  It  will  be  thus  with  us  at  tie 
resurrection.  God  writes  his  gosj^el,  not  in  the  Bible 
alone,  but  in  trees,  and  flowers,  and  clouds,  and  stars." 

And  thus  to  Mistress  Luther  that  little  garden,  with  his 
presence  and  his  discourse,  has  become  like  an  illuminated 
Gospel  and  Psalter. 

I  ventured  to  ask  her  some  questions,  and,  among  othv^rs, 
if  she  had  ever  heard  him  speak  of  using  a  form  of  words 
in  prayer.  She  said  she  had  once  heard  him  say  "  we 
might  use  forms  of  words  in  private  prayer  until  the  winga 
and  feathers  of  our  souls  are  groAvn,  that  we  may  soar 
freely  upward  into  the  pure  air  of  God's  presence."  But 
his  prayers,  she  says,  aresometim_e  like  the  trustful  plead- 
ings of  his  little  boy  Hanschen  with  him ;  and  sometimes 
like  the  wrestling  of  a  giant  in  an  agony  of  conflict. 

She  said,  also,  that  she  often  thanks  God  for  the  Doc- 
tor's love  of  music.  When  his  mind  and  heart  have  been 
strained  to  the  utmost,  music  seems  to  be  like  a  bath  of 
pure  fresh  water  to  his  spirit,  bracing  and  resting  it  at 
once. 

I  indeed  have  myself  heard  hini  speak  of  this,  when  I 
have  been  present  at  the  meetings  he  has  every  Aveek  at 
his  house  for  singing  in  parts.  "  The  devil,"  he  says— 
"  that  lost  spirit — cannot  endure  sacred  songs  of  joy.  Out 
]»assions  and  impatiences,  our  complainings  and  our  cry- 
ings,  our  Alas  !  and  our  Woe  is  me !  j)lease  huu  well ;  but 
our  songs  and  psalms  vex  him  and  grieve  him  sorely." 

Mistress  Luther  told  me  she  had  many  an  anxious  hour 
about  the  Doct'>r's  health.  He  is  often  so  sorely  pressed 
with  work  and  care;  and  he  has  never  recover«d  the 
weakening  elFects  of  his  oai'lj  fasts  and  conflicts. 


ELSE'S  STORT.  49, 

llis  tastes  and  habits  at  table  are  very  abstemious.  Hi* 
favourite  dishes  are  lierrings  aud  pease-soup ;  and  when 
engrossed  with,  any  especial  work,  he  would  forget  or  go 
without  his  meals  altogether  if  she  did  not  press  hira  f» 
take  them.  When  writing  his  Commentary  on  the  Twenty- 
second  Psalm,  he  shut  himself  up  for  three  days  with 
nothing  but  bread  and  salt ;  until,  at  last,  she  had  to  send 
for  a  locksmith  to  break  open  the  door,  when  they  found 
him  absorbed  in  meditation. 

And  yet,  w' ith  all  his  deep  thoughts  and  his  wide  cares, 
like  a  king's  or  an  archbishop's,  he  enters  into  his  chil- 
dren's games  as  if  he  were  a  boy ;  and  never  fails,  if  he  is  at 
a  fair  on  his  travels,  to  bring  the  little  ones  home  seme 
gift  for  a  fairing. 

She  showed  me  a  letter  she  had  just  received  from  him 
from  Coburg,  for  his  little  son  Hanschen.  She  allowed 
me  to  copy  it.     It  was  written  thus : — 


•  •  X^  RACE  and  peace  in  Christ  to  my  heartily  dear 
V_X  little  son.  I  see  gladly  that  thou  learnest  well 
and  prayest  earnestly.  Do  thus,  my  little  son,  and  go  on. 
When  I  come  home  I  will  bring  thee  a  beautiful  fairing. 
I  know  a  pleasant  garden,  wherein  many  children  walk 
about.  They  have  little  golden  coats,  and  pick  up  beauti- 
ful apples  under  the  trees,  and  pears,  cherries  and  plums 
They  dance  and  are  merry,  and  have  also  beautiful  little 
ponies,  with  golden  reins  and  silver  saddles.  Then  I 
asked  the  man  whose  the  garden  is,  whose  children  those 
were.  He  said,  '  These  are  the  children  who  love  to  pray, 
who  learn  their  lessons,  and  are  good.'  Then  I  said, 
'  Dear  man,  I  also  have  a  little  son ;  he  is  called  ITansichen 
Luther.  Miglit  not  he  also  come  into  the  garden,  that  he 
might  eat  such  apples  and  pears,  and  ride  on  such  beauti- 
ful little  ponies,  and  play  with  these  children  ?'  Then  the 
man  said,  '  If  he  loves  to  pray,  learns  his  lessons,  and  \a 


492  THE  SCHONBERO-GOTTA  FAMILY 

good,  lie  also  shall  come-  into  the  garden  — Lippus  and  Tost 
also  (the  little  sons  of  Melancthon  and  Justus  Jonas) ;  and 
when  they  all  come  together,  they  also  shall  have  pipes, 
drums,  lutes,  and  all  kinds  of  music ;  and  shaU  dance,  and 
shoot  with  little  bows  and  arrows.' 

"And  he  showed  me  there  a  fair  meadow  in  the  garden, 
prepared  for  dancing.  There  were  many  pipes  of  pure 
gold,  drums,  and  silver  bows  and  arrows.  But  it  was 
still  early  in  the  day,  so  that  the  children  had  not  had  their 
breakfast.  Therefore  I  could  not  wait  for  the  dancing,  and 
said  to  the  man,  '  All,  dear  sir,  I  will  go  away  at  once,  and 
write  all  this  to  my  little  son  Hansichen,  that  he  may  be 
sure  to  pray  and  to  learn  well,  and  be  good,  that  he  also 
may  come  into  this  garden.  But  he  has  a  dear  aunt, 
Lena ;  he  must  bring  her  with  him.'  Then  said  the  man, 
'  Let  it  be  so ;  go  and  write  him  thus.' 

"  Therefore,  my  dear  little  son  Hansichen,  learn  thy  les- 
eons,  and  pray  with  a  cheerful  heart;  and  tell  ail  this  to 
Lippus  and  Justus  too,  that  they  also  may  learR  their  les- 
sons and  pray.  So  shall  you  all  come  together  into  thia 
garden.  Herewith  I  commend  you  to  the  Almighty  God ; 
and  greet  Aunt  Lena,  and  give  her  a  kiss  from  me. — Thy 
dear  father,  Mabtin  Luthek." 

Some  who  have  seen  this  letter  say  it  is  too  trifling  for 
such  serious  subjects.  But  heaven  is  not  a  grim  and 
lustere,  but  a  most  bright  and  joyful  place ;  and  Dr. 
Luther  is  only  telling  the  child  in  his  own  childish  lan- 
guage what  a  happy  place  it  is.  Does  not  God  our  heav. 
euly  Father  do  even  so  with  us  ? 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  Dr.  Luther  turn  from  hig 
grave  letters  to  princes  and  doctors  about  the  great  Augs- 
burg Confession,  which  they  are  now  preparing,  to  wi'itfl 
tiie&e  loving  words  to  his  little  Hans.  No  wonder  Cath^ 
rine   Lutherinn,  Doctress   Luther,  mea   dominus   Ketha, 


ELSE'S  STORY 


49J 


"my  lord  Kiithe,"  as  lie  calls  her,  is  a  happy  womaa 
Happy  for  Germany  that  the  Catechism  in  which  our  chil- 
dren learn  the  first  elements  of  divine  truth,  grew  out  of 
the  fatherly  heart  of  Luther,  instead  of  being  put  together 
by  a  Diet  or  a  General  Council. 

One  more  letter  I  have  copied,  because  my  children 
«vere  so  interested  in  it.  Dr.  Luther  finds  at  all  times 
great  delight  in  the  songs  of  birds.  Tlie  letter  I  have 
copied  was  written  on  the  2Sth  April,  to  his  friends  who 
meet  around  his  table  at  home. 

/^^  RACE  and  peace  in  Christ,  dear  sirs  and  friends  ! 

V_X  I  have  received  all  your  letters,  and  understand 
how  things  are  going  on  with  you.  That  you,  on  the  other 
hand,  may  understand  how  things  are  going  on  here,  I 
would  have  you  know  that  we,  namely,  I,  Master  Veit,  and 
Cyriacus,  are  not  going  to  the  Diet  at  Augsburg.  We 
have,  however,  another  diet  of  our  own  here. 

"  Just  under  our  window  there  is  a  grove  like  a  little 
forest,  where  the  choughs  and  crows  have  convened  a  diet, 
and  there  is  such  a  riding  hither  and  thither,  such  an  in- 
cessant tumult,  day  and  night,  as  if  they  were  all  merry, 
and  mad  with  drinking.  Young  and  old  chatter  togethei-, 
until  I  wonder  how  their  breath  can  hold  out  so  long.  I 
should  like  to  know  if  any  of  those  nobles  and  cavaliera 
are  with  you ;  it  seems  to  me  they  must  be  gathered  here 
out  of  the  whole  world. 

"  I  have  not  yet  seen  their  emperor,  but  their  great  people 
are  always  strutting  and  prancing  before  our  eyes,  not, 
indeed,  in  costly  robes,  but  all  simply  clad  in  one  uniform, 
all  alike  black,  and  all  alike  grey-eyed,  all  singing  ona 
Bong,  only  with  the  most  amusing  varieties  between  young 
and  old,  and  great  and  small.  They  are  not  careful  to 
have  a  great  palace  and  hall  of  assembly,  for  their  hall  ic 
vauUed  with  the  beautiful,  broad  sky,  their  tloor  is  th« 


494  THE  SCEONBEBG-  CO Tl 'A  FAMIL  7. 

field  strewn  -with  fair,  green  branches,  and  their  walla 
reach  as  fur  as  tlie  ends  of  the  world.  Neither  do  they 
require  steeds  and  armour;  they  have  feathered  wheels 
with  which  they  fly  from  shot  and  danger.  They  are, 
doubtless,  great  and  mighty  lords,  but  what  they  are  de- 
hating  I  do  not  yet  know. 

"As  far,  however,  as  I  understand  through  an  interpret 
ter,  they  are  planning  a  great  foray  and  campaign  agamst 
the  wheat,  barley,  oats,  and  all  kinds  of  grain,  and  many 
a  knight  will  wm  his  spurs  in  this  war,  and  many  a  brave 
deed  wiU  be  done. 

"  Thus  we  sit  here  in  our  diet,  and  hear  and  listen  with 
great  delight,  and  learn  how  the  princes  and  lords,  with  all 
the  other  estates  of  the  empire,  sing  and  live  so  merrily. 
But  our  especial  pleasure  is  to  see  how  cavalierly  they 
pair  about,  whet  tlieir  beaks,  and  furbish  their  armour, 
that  they  may  win  glory  and  victory  from  wheat  and  oats. 
We  wish  them  health  and  wealth,  and  that  they  may  all  at 
once  be  impaled  on  a  quickset  hedge ! 

"  For  I  hold  they  are  nothing  better  than  sophists  and 
papists  with  their  preaching  and  writing ;  and  I  should 
like  to  have  these  also  before  me  in  our  assembly,  that  I 
might  hear  their  pleasant  voices  and  sermons,  and  see  what 
a  iiseful  people  they  are  to  devour  all  that  is  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  and  afterwards  chatter  no  one  knows  how 
long ! 

"  To-day  we  have  heard  the  first  nightingale,  for  they 
would  not  trust  April.  We  have  had  delightful  weather 
here,  no  rain,  except  a  Uttle  yesterday.  With  you,  per- 
hajjs,  it  is  otherwise.  Herewith  I  commend  you  to  God. 
Keep  house  well.  Given  from  the  Diet  of  the  grain-Turks, 
the  28th  of  April,  anno  1530. 

"Martinus  Luthke." 

Tet,  peaceful  and  at  leisure  as  he  seems,  Gottfried  says 


ELSE'S  STORY.  495 

the  whole  of  Germany  is  bearing  now  once  more  on  the 
Bircngth  of  that  faitliful  heart. 

The  Roman  diplomatists  again  and  again  have  all  but 
persuaded  Melancthon  to  yield  everythhig  for  peace ;  and, 
but  for  the  firm  and  faithful  words  which  issue  from  "this 
wilderness,"  as  Luther  calls  the  Coburg  fortress,  Gottfried 
believes  all  might  have  gone  wrong.  Severely  and  mourn- 
fully has  Dr.  Luther  been  constrained  to  write  more  than 
once  to  "  Philip  Pusillanimity,"  demanding  that  at  least  he 
should  not  give  up  the  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith, 
and  abandon  all  to  the  decision  of  bishops ! 

"  It  is  faith  which  gives  Luther  this  clearness  of  vision. 
"  It  is  God's  word  and  cause,"  he  writes,  "  therefore  our 
prayer  is  certainly  heard,  and  already  he  has  determined 
and  prepared  the  help  that  shall  help  us.  This  cannot  fail. 
For  he  says,  '  Can  a  woman  forget  her  sucking  cliild,  that 
she  should  not  have  compassion  on  the  son  of  her  womb  ? 
yea,  they  may  forget,  yet  will  I  not  forget  thee.  See,  I 
have  graven  thee  on  the  palms  of  my  hands.'  I  have  lately 
seen  two  miracles,"  he  continues ;  "  the  first,  as  I  was  look 
ing  out  of  my  Avindow  and  saw  the  stars  in  heaven,  and 
all  that  beautiful  vaulted  roof  of  God,  and  yet  saw  no 
pillars  on  which  the  Master  Builder  had  fixed  this  vault ; 
yet  the  heaven  fell  not,  but  all  that  grand  arch  stood  firm. 
Now  there  are  some  who  search  for  such  pillars,  and  want 
to  touch  and  grasp  them,  and  since  they  cannot,  they  won- 
der and  tremble  as  if  the  heaven  must  certainly  fall,  for  no 
other  reason  but  because  they  cannot  touch  and  grasp  its 
pillars.  If  they  could  lay  hold  on  tliose,  think  they,  tlien 
the  heaven  would  stand  firm ! 

"The  second  miracle  was — I  saw  great  cloiuls  rolling 
over  us,  with  such  a  i)onderous  weight  that  they  might  bo 
compared  to  a  great  ocean,  and  yet  I  saw  no  foundation 
on  which  they  rested  or  were  based,  nor  any  sliore  which 
kept  them  back  ;  yet  they  fell  nut  ou  uS;  but  frowned   yn 


496  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

ns  with  a  stern  countenance  and  fled.  But  wlieu  tlipy  hati 
passed  by,  then  shone  forth  both  their  foundation  and 
our  roof  which  had  kept  them  back — the  rainbow  !  Yet 
that  was  indeed  a  weak,  thin,  slight  foundation  and  roof, 
vvliich  soon  melted  away  into  tlie  clouds,  and  was  more  like 
a  shadowy  prism,  such  as  we  see  through  coloured  glass, 
than  a  strong  and  firm  foundation ;  so  that  we  might  well 
distrust  that  feeble  dyke  which  kept  back  that  terrible 
weight  of  Avaters.  Yet  we  found,  in  fact,  that  this  unsub- 
stantial i^rism  could  bear  up  the  weight  of  waters,  and  that 
it  guards  us  safely.  Bat  there  are  some  who  look  rather 
at  tlie  thickness  and  massy  weiglit  of  the  waters  an^ 
clouds,  than  at  this  thin,  slight,  narrow  bow  of  promise. 
They  would  like  to  feel  the  strength  of  that  sliadow^y, 
evanescent  arch,  and  because  they  cannot  do  this,  they  are 
ever  fearing  that  the  clouds  will  bring  back  the  deluge." 

Heavenly  Father,  since  one  man  who  trusts  thy  word 
can  tlius  uphold  a  nation,  what  could  not  thy  word  do  for 
each  of  us  if  we  would  each  of  us  thus  trust  it,  and  thee 
who  speakest  it ! 

THEKLA'S   STORY. 

WlTTENBEKG,  1540. 

THE  time  I  used  to  dread  most  of  all  in  my  life,  aftei 
that  great  bereavement  which  laid  it  waste,  is  come. 
I  am  in  the  monotonous  level  of  solitary  middle  age.  The 
sunny  homes  of  childhood,  iind  even  the  joyous  breezy 
slopes  of  youth,  are  almost  out  of  sight  behind  me ;  and 
\he  snowy  heights  of  reverend  age,  from  which  we  can 
look  oxav  into  the  promised  laud  beyond,  are  almost  as  far 
before  me.  Other  lives  have  grown  from  the  bubbling 
spring  into  the  broad  and  placid  river,  while  mine  is  still 
the  little  narrow  stream  it  was  at  first,  only  creeping  slow 
and  noiseless  through  the  flats,  instead  of  springing  gladly 


THEKLA'S  STOUT. 


497 


from  rock  to  rock,  making  music  wherever  it  came.  Yet 
I  am  content,  absolutely,  fully  content.  I  am  sure  that  my 
life  also  has  been  ordered  by  Lie  highest  wisdom  and  love* 
and  that  (as  far  as  my  faithless  heart  does  not  hinder  it) 
God  is  leading  me  also  on  to  the  very  highest  and  best 
destiny  for  me. 

I  did  not  always  think  so.  I  used  to  fear  that  not  only 
would  this  bereavement  throw  a  shadow  on  my  earthl3r 
life,  but  that  it  would  stunt  and  enfeeble  my  nature  for 
ever ;  that  missing  all  the  sweet,  ennobling  relationships 
of  married  life,  even  through  the  ages  I  should  be  but  an 
undeveloped,  one-sided  creature. 

But  one  day  I  was  reading  in  Dr.  Luther's  German  Bible 
the  chapter  about  the  body  of  Christ,  the  twelfth  of  First 
Corinthians,  and  great  comfort  came  into  my  heart  through 
it.  I  saw  that  we  are  not  meant  to  be  separate  atoms, 
each  complete  in  itself,  but  members  of  a  body,  each  only 
complete  through  union  with  all  the  rest.  And  then  I 
saw  hoAv  entirely  unimijortaut  it  is  in  what  place  Christ 
shall  set  me  in  his  body ;  and  how  impossible  it  is  for  us 
to  judge  what  he  is  training  us  for,  until  the  body  is  per- 
fected and  we  see  what  we  are  to  be  in  it. 

On  the  Diiben  Heath  also,  soon  after,  when  I  was  walk- 
ing home  with  Else's  Gretchen,  the  same  lesson  came  to 
me  in  a  parable,  through  a  clump  of  trees  under  the  shade 
of  which  we  were  resting.  Ofter,  fi-om  a  distance,  we 
had  admired  the  beautiful  symmetry  of  the  group,  and 
now  looking  up  I  saw  how  imperfect  every  separate  tree 
was,  all  leaning  in  various  directions,  and  all  only  devel- 
oped on  one  side.  If  each  tree  had  said,  "  1  am  a  beei^h- 
tree,  and  I  ought  to  throw  out  branches  on  e\ery  side,  like 
my  brother  standing  alone  on  the  heath,"  what  would 
have  become  of  that  beautiful  clump?  And  looking  up 
through  the  green  interwoven  leaves  to  the  blue  sky,  I 
Miid, — 


^98  THB  SGHONBERQ-GOTTA  FAMILY. 

"  Heavenly  Father,  thou  art  wise !  I  will  doubt  no  mora 
Plant  n)e  where  thou  wilt  in  thy  garden,  and  let  me  grow 
as  thou  wilt !  Thou  wilt  not  let  me  fail  of  my  highest 
end." 

Dr.  Luther  also  said  many  things  which  helped  me  from 
time  to  time,  in  conversation  or  in  his  sermons. 

"  The  barley,"  he  said,  "  must  suffer  much  from  man. 
First,  it  is  cast  into  the  earth  that  it  may  decay.  Then, 
"when  it  is  grown  up  and  ripe,  it  is  cut  and  mown  down. 
Then  it  is  crushed  and  pressed,  fermented  and  brewed  into 
beer. 

"  Just  such  a  martyr  also  is  the  linen  or  flax.  When 
It  is  ripe  it  is  plucked,  steeped  in  water,  beaten,  dried, 
hacked,  spun,  and  woven  into  linen,  which  again  is  torn 
and  cut.  Afterwards  it  is  made  into  plaster  for  sores,  and 
used  for  binding  up  wounds.  Then  it  becomes  lint,  is 
laid  under  the  stamping  machines  in  the  paper  mill,  and 
torn  into  small  bits.  From  this  they  make  paper  for 
writing  and  printing. 

"  These  creatures,  and  many  others  like  them,  which  are 
of  great  use  to  us,  must  thus  suffer.  Thus  also  must  good, 
godly  Christians  suffer  much  from  the  ungodly  and  wicked. 
Thus,  however,  the  barley,  Avine  and  corn  are  ennobled,  in 
man  becoming  flesh,  and  in  the  Christian  man's  flesh  enter- 
ing into  the  heavenly  kingdom." 

Often  he  speaks  of  the  "  dear,  holy  cross,  a  portion  of 
«rhich  is  given  to  all  Christians." 

"  All  the  saints,"  he  said  once,  when  a  little  child  of  one 
ol  his  fri«ids  lay  ill,  '  must  drink  of  the  bitter  cup.  CouLi 
Mary  even,  the  dear  mother  of  our  Lord,  escape?  All 
who  are  dear  to  him  must  suffer.  Christians  conquer 
wher.  they  suffer ;  only  when  they  rebel  and  resist  are  they 
defeated  and  lose  the  day." 

He  indeed  knows  what  trial  and  temptation  mean. 
Many  a  bitter  cup  has  he  had  to  drink,  he  to  whom  tb* 


TEEKLA'S  STORT.  ^^ 

Kos,  and  selfishness,  and  divisions  of  Christians  are  per- 
sonal sorrow  and  shame.  It  is  therefore,  no  doubt,  that 
he  knows  so  well  how  to  sustain  and  comfort.  Those,  he 
says,  who  are  to  be  the  bones  and  sinews  of  the  Church 
must  expect  the  hardest  blows. 

Well  I  remember  his  saying,  when,  on  the  8th  of  Au*. 
gust,  1529,  before  his  going  to  Coburg,  he  and  his  wife 
lay  sick  of  a  fever,  while  he  suffered  also  from  sciatica, 
and  many  other  ailments, — 

"  God  has  touched  me  sorely.  I  have  been  impatient ; 
but  God  knows  better  than  I  whereto  it  serves.  Our 
Lord  God  is  like  a  printer  who  sets  the  letters  backwards^  so 
tliat  here  we  cannot  read  them.  When  we  are  printed  off  yon 
der,  in  the  life  to  come,  we  shall  read  all  clear  and  straight- 
forward.    Meantime  v/e  must  have  patience." 

In  other  ways  more  than  I  can  number  he  and  his  worda 
have  helped  me.  No  one  seems  to  understand  as  he  does 
what  the  devil  is  and  does.  It  is  the  temptation  in  the  sor- 
row which  is  the  thing  to  be  dreaded  and  guarded  against. 
This  was  what  I  did  not  understand  at  first  when  Bertrand 
died.  I  thought  I  was  rebellious,  and  dared  not  approach 
God  till  I  ceased  to  feel  rebellious.  I  did  not  understand 
that  the  malignant  one  who  tempted  me  to  rebel  also 
tempted  me  to  think  God  would  not  forgive.  I  had 
thought  before  of  aftliction  as  a  kind  of  sanctuary  Avhere 
naturally  I  should  feel  God  near.  I  had  to  learn  that  it  ia 
also  night-time,  even  "  the  hour  of  darkness,"  in  which  the 
prince  of  darkness  draws  near  unseen.  As  Luther  says, 
"  The  devil  torments  us  in  the  place  where  we  are  most 
tender  and  weak,  as  in  paradise  he  fell  not  on  Adam,  but 
on  Eve." 

Inexpressible  Avas  the  relief  to  me  when  I  learned  who 
bad  been  tormenting  me,  and  turned  to  Him  who  van- 
quished the  tempter  of  old  to  banish  him  now  from  me, 
For  terrible  as  Dr.  LutUer  knows  that  fallen  angel  to  be,— 


500 


TEE  SCHONBERQ.COTTA  FAmZT. 


"  the  antithesis,"  as  lie  said,  "  of  the  Ten  Commandmenla,'"' 
who  for  tliousands  of  years  has  been  studying  with  an 
angel's  intellectual  power,  "how  most  efl'ectually  to  dis- 
tress and  ruin  man," — he  always  reminds  us  that,  never, 
theless,  the  devil  is  a  vanquished  foe,  that  the  victory  haa 
not  now  to  be  won ;  that,  bold  as  the  evil  one  is  to  assaiJ 
and  tempt  the  unguarded,  a  Avord  or  look  of  foith  will  com- 
pel him  to  flee  "  Uke  a  beaten  hound."  It  is  this  blendiug 
of  the  sense  of  Satan's  power  to  tempt,  with  the  convic 
tion  of  his  powerlessness  to  injure  the  believing  heart, 
which  has  so  often  sustained  me  in  Dr.  Luther's  words. 

But  it  is  not  only  thus  that  he  has  helped  me.  He  presses 
on  us  often  the  necessity  of  occupation.  It  is  bette\,  he 
says,  to  engage  in  the  humblest  work,  than  to  sit  still 
alone  and  encounter  the  temptations  of  Satan.  "  Oft  in 
my  temptations  I  have  need  to  talk  even  with  a  child,  in 
order  to  expel  such  thoughts  as  the  devil  possesses  me 
with;  and  this  teaches  me  not  to  boast  as  if  of  myself  I 
were  able  to  help  myself,  and  to  subsist  without  the 
strength  of  Christ.  I  need  one  at  times  to  help  me  who 
in  his  whole  body  has  not  as  much  theology  as  I  have  in 
one  finger."  "  The  human  heart,"  he  says,  "  is  like  a  mill- 
Btone  in  a  mill :  when  you  put  wheat  under  it,  it  turns, 
and  grinds,  and  bruises  the  Avheat  to  flour ;  if  you  put  no 
wheat  it  still  grinds  c  n,  but  then  it  is  itself  it  grinds  and 
wears  away.  So  the  human  heart,  unless  it  be  occupied 
with  some  employment,  leaves  space  for  the  devil,  who 
wriggles  himself  in,  and  brings  with  him  a  whole  host  of 
evil  thoughts,  temptations,  tribulations,  which  gi'ind  away 
the  heart." 

After  hearing  him  say  this,  I  tried  hard  to  find  myself 
some  occupation.  At  first  it  seemed  difficult.  Else  wanted 
Uttle  help  with  her  children,  or  only  occasionally.  At 
home  the  cares  of  poverty  were  over,  and  my  dear  fathef 
uid  mother  lived  in  comfort,  without  my  aid.     I  u&ed  di* 


THEKLA'S  STORY.  501 

contentedly  to  wish  sometimes  that  we  were  poor  again, 
S3  in  Else's  giilish  days,  that  I  might  be  needed,  and  really 
feel  it  of  some  use  to  spin  and  embroider,  instead  of  feeling 
that  I  only  worked  for  the  sake  of  not  being  idle,  and  that 
no  one  would  be  the  better  for  what  I  did. 

At  other  time?  I  used  to  long  to  seclude  myself  from  all 
the  happy  life  aroimd,  and  half  to  reproach  Dr.  Luther  in 
Ely  heart  for  causing  the  suppression  of  the  convents.  In 
a  nunnery,  at  least,  I  thought  I  should  have  been  some- 
thing definite  aud  recognised,  instead  of  the  negat-ive,  un- 
developed creature  I  felt  myself  to  be,  only  distinguished 
from  those  around  by  the  absence  of  what  made  their  lives 
real  aud  happy. 

My  mother's  recovery  from  the  plague  helped  to  cure 
me  of  that,  by  reminding  me  of  the  home  blessings  still 
left.  I  began,  too,  to  confide  once  more  in  God,  and  I 
was  comforted  by  thinking  of  what  my  grandmother  said 
to  me  one  day  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  crying  hopelessly 
over  a  tangled  skein  and  sobbing,  "  I  shall  never  untangle 
it ;"  "  Wind,  dear  child,  wind  on,  inch  by  inch,  undo  each 
knol  one  by  one,  and  the  skein  will  soon  disentangle  itself." 
So  I  resolved  to  wind  on  my  little  thread  of  life  day  by 
day,  and  undo  one  little  knot  after  another,  until  now,  in- 
deed, the  skein  has  untangled  itself. 

Few  women,  I  think,  have  a  life  more  full  of  love  and 
interest  than  mine.  I  have  undertaken  the  care  of  a  school 
for  little  girls,  among  whom  are  Uvo  orphans,  made  father- 
less by  tlie  peasants'  war,  who  were  seat  to  us ;  and  this 
also  I  owe  to  Dr.  Luther.  lie  has  nothing  more  at  heart 
than  the  education  of  the  young ;  and  nothing  gives  hin; 
more  pain  than  to  see  the  covetousness  which  grudges 
funds  for  schools ;  and  nothing  more  joy  tlian  to  see  the 
little  ones  grow  up  in  all  good  knowledge.  As  he  wrote 
to  the  Elector  John  from  Coburg  twelve  years  ago  :— 

"The  merciful  God  shows  himself  indeed  gracious  in 


502  THE  SGEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

making  his  Wctrd  so  fruitful  in  your  land.  The  tender  lii 
tie  boys  and  maidens  are  so  well  instructed  in  the  Cat« 
chism  and  Scriptures,  that  my  heart  melts  when  I  see  that 
young  boys  and  girls  can  pray,  believe,  and  speak  better 
3f  God  and  Cbrist  than  all  the  convents  and  schools  could 
in  the  olden  time. 

"  Such  youth  in  your  grace's  land  are  a  fair  paradise,  ot 
which  the  like  is  not  in  the  world.  It  is  as  if  God  said, 
'  Courage,  dear  Duke  John,  I  commit  to  thee  my  noblest 
treasure,  my  pleasant  paradise ;  thou  shalt  be  father  over 
it.  For  under  thy  guard  and  rule  I  place  it,  and  give  thee 
the  honour  that  thou  shalt  be  my  gardener  and  steward.' 
This  is  assuredly  true.  It  is  even  as  if  our  Lord  himself 
were  your  grace's  guest  and  ward,  since  his  Word  and  hia 
little  ones  are  your  perpetual  guests  and  wards." 

For  a  little  while  a  lady,  a  friend  of  his  wife,  resided  in 
his  house  in  order  to  commence  such  a  school  at  Witten- 
jerg  for  young  girls ;  and  now  it  has  become  my  charge. 
And  often  Dr.  Luther  comes  in  and  lays  his  hands  on  the 
heads  of  the  little  ones,  and  asks  God  to  bless  them,  or 
listens  while  they  repeat  the  Catechism  or  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures. 

December  25,  1542. 

ONCE  more  the  Christmas  tree  has  been  planted  in 
our  homes  at  Wittenberg.  How  many  such  happy 
Christian  homes  there  are  among  us  !  Our  Else's,  Justus 
Jonas',  and  his  gentle,  sympathizing  wife,  who.  Dr.  Luther 
gays,  "  always  brings  comfort  in  her  kind,  pleasant  coun- 
tenance." We  all  meet  at  Else's  home  on  such  occasions 
now.  The  voices  af  the  children  are  better  than  light  to 
the  blind  eyes  of  my  father,  and  my  mother  renews  her 
own  malernal  joys  again  in  her  grandchildren,  without  tti« 
cares. 

But  of  all  these  homes  none  is  happier  or  more  united 


TffEKLA'S  8T0BT. 


503 


thau  Dr.  ]julher's.  His  childlike  pleasure  in  little  things 
makes  every  family  festiA^al  in  his  house  so  joyous ;  and 
the  cliildren's  plays  and  pleasures,  as  well  as  their  little 
troubles,  are  to  him  a  perpetual  parable  of  the  heavenly 
family,  and  of  our  relationship  to  God.  There  are  five 
■ehildrcn  in  his  family  now ;  Hans,  the  first-born ;  Magda- 
len, a  lovely,  loving  girl  of  thirteen ;  Paul,  Martin,  and 
Margaretha. 

How  happy  it  is  for  those  who  are  bereaved  aid  sorrow- 
ful that  our  Christian  festivals  point  forward  an  J  upward 
as  well  as  backward  ;  that  the  eternal  joy  to  which  we  are 
drawing  ever  nearer  is  linked  to  the  earthly  joy  which  has 
passed  away.  Yes,  the  old  heathen  tree  of  life,  which  that 
young  gi-een  fir  from  the  primeval  forests  of  our  land  ia 
said  to  t}^ify,  has  been  christened  into  the  Christmas  tree. 
The  old  tree  of  life  was  a  tree  of  sorrow,  and  had  its  roota 
in  the  evanescent  earth,  and  at  its  base  sat  the  mournful 
Destinies,  ready  to  cut  the  thread  of  human  life.  Nature 
ever  renewing  herself  contrasts  with  the  human  life  that 
blooms  but  once.  But  our  tree  of  life  is  a  tree  of  joy,  and 
is  rooted  in  the  eternal  paradise  of  joy.  The  angels  watch 
over  it,  and  it  recalls  the  birth  of  the  second  man — the 
Lord  from  heaven — who  is  the  life-giving  spirit.  In  it  the 
evanescence  of  Nature,  immortal  as  she  seems,  is  contrasted 
with  tlie  true  eternal  life  of  mortal  man.  In  the  joy  of  the 
little  ones,  once  more,  thank  God,  my  whole  heart  seems 
to  rejoice ;  for  I  also  have  my  face  towards  the  dawn,  an'3 
[  can  hear  the  fountain  of  life  bubbling  up  whichever  way 
I  turn.  Only,  before  me  it  is  best  and  freshest,  for  it  1/ 
(springing  up  to  life  everlasting. 

December^  1542. 

A  SHADOW  has  fallen  on  the  peaceful  home  of  Dr 
Luther:  Magdalen,  the  unselfish,  obedient,  pions 
•oving  child— the  darling  of  her  father's  heart— ia  dead^ 


^04  THE  SCHONBEROCOTTA  FAMILY. 

the  first-born  daughter,  whose  likeness,  when  she  was  a 
year  old,  used  to  cheer  and  delight  him  at  Coburg. 

On  the  5th  of  this  last  September  slie  was  taken  ill,  and 
then  Luther  wrote  at  once  to  his  friend  Marcus  Crodel  to 
send  his  son  John  from  Torgau,  where  lie  was  studying,  to 
•?oe  his  sister.     He  wrote, — 

''  Grace  and  peace,  my  Marcus  Crodel.  I  request  that 
you  will  conceal  from  my  John  what  I  am  writing  to  you. 
My  daughter  Magdalen  is  literally  almost  at  the  point  of 
death — soon  about  to  depart  to  her  Father  in  heaven,  un 
less  it  should  yet  seem  fit  to  God  to  spare  her.  But  sh 
herself  so  sighs  to  see  her  brother,  that  I  am  constraine'. 
to  send  a  carriage  to  fetch  him.  They  indeed  loved  on< 
another  greatly.  May  she  survive  to  his  coming!  I  dc 
what  I  can,  lest  afterwai'ds  the  sense  of  having  neglected 
anything  should  torment  me.  Desire  him,  therefore,  with 
out  mentioning  the  cause,  to  return  hither  at  once  witfi 
all  speed  in  this  carriage ;  hither, — where  she  will  eithei 
sleep  in  the  Lord  or  be  restored.     Farewell  in  the  Lord." 

Her  brother  came,  but  she  was  not  restored. 

As  she  lay  very  ill,  Doctor  Martin  said, — 

"  She  is  very  dear  to  me  ;  but,  gracious  God,  if  it  is  thy 
will  to  takfi  her  hence,  I  am  content  to  know  that  she  will 
be  with  thee." 

And  as  she  lay  in  the  bed,  he  said  to  her, — 

"  Magdalenchen,  ray  little  daughter,  thou  wouldst  like 
k>  stay  w^ith  thy  father ;  and  thou  art  content  also  to  go 
to  thy  Father  yonder." 

Said  she,  "Yes,  dearest  father;  as  God  wills." 

Then  said  the  father, — 

*'  Thou  darling  child,  the  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh 
\b  weak." 

Then  he  turned  away  and  said, — 

"  She  is  very  dear  to  me.  If  the  flesh  is  so  strong,  wnm 
will  the  spirit  be  ?" 


THEKLA'S  8 TOUT. 


50J 


And  among  other  things  he  said, — 

"  For  a  thousand  years  God  has  given  no  bishop  sucfc 
great  gifts  as  he  has  given  me ;  and  we  should  rejoice  it 
his  gifts.  I  am  angry  with  myself  that  I  cannot  rejoic*" 
m  my  heart  over  her,  nor  give  thanks ;  although  now  and 
then  I  can  sing  a  little  song  to  our  God,  and  thank  him  a 
little  for  all  this.  But  let  us  take  courage ;  living  or  dying, 
we  are  the  Lord's.  '  Sive  vivimus,  sive  moremur,  Domini 
sumus.'  This  is  true,  whether  we  take  '  Domini'  in  the 
nominative  or  the  genitive  :  we  are  the  Lord's,  and  in  him 
we  are  lords  over  death  and  life." 

Then  said  Master  George  Rorer, — 

"  I  once  heard  your  reverence  say  a  thing  which  often 
comforts  me, — namely,  '  I  have  prayed  our  Lord  God  that 
he  will  give  me  a  happy  departure  when  I  journey  hence. 
And  he  will  do  it ;  of  that  I  feel  sure.  At  my  latter  end 
I  shall  yet  speak  with  Christ  my  Lord,  were  it  for  ever  so 
brief  a  space.'  I  fear  sometimes,"  continued  Master  Rorer, 
"  that  I  shall  depart  hence  suddenly,  in  silence,  without 
being  able  to  speak  a  word." 

Then  said  Dr.  Martin  Luther, — 

"  Living  or  dying,  Ave  are  the  Lord's.  It  is  equally  so 
whether  you  were  killed  by  falling  down  stairs,  or  Avere 
sitting  and  writing,  and  suddenly  should  die.  It  would 
not  injure  me  if  I  fell  from  a  ladder  and  lay  dead  at  its 
foot ;  for  the  devil  liates  us  grievously,  and  might  even 
bring  about  such  a  tTimg  as  that." 

When,  at  last,  tho  little  Magdalen  lay  at  the  point  of 
death,  her  father  fell  on  his  knees  by  her  bed-side,  wept 
bitterly,  and  prayed  that  God  Avould  receiA'e  her.  Then 
she  departed,  and  fell  asleep  in  her  father's  arms,  ller 
mother  Avas  also  in  the  room,  but  further  off,  on  account 
of  her  grief  This  happened  a  Httle  after  nine  o'clock, 
cm  the  Wednesday  after  the  19th  Sunday  after  Tiin'ty, 
1542.  ^ 

22 


,o6  TUE  SCUONBEBGCOTTA  FAMTLT. 

The  Doctor  repeated  often,  as  before  said, — 

"  T  would  desire  indeed  to  keep  my  dai^^^hter,  if  oiu 
Lord  God  would  leave  her  with  me ;  for  I  loy<  her  very 
dearly.  But  his  Avill  be  done  ;  for  nothing  c^v  be  bettei 
&an  that  for  her." 

Whilst  she  still  lived,  he  said  to  her, — 

"  Dear  daughter,  thou  hast  also  a  Father  ia  heaven 
thou  art  going  to  him." 

Then  said  Master  Philip, — 

'*  The  love  of  j^arents  is  an  image  and  illustravicn  of 
the  love  of  God,  engraven  on  the  human  heart.  If,  then, 
the  love  of  God  to  the  human  race  is  as  great  as  that 
of  parents  to  their  children,  it  is  indeed  great  and  fer 
vent." 

When  she  was  laid  in  the  coffin,  Doctor  Martin  said,— 

"  Thou  darling  Lenicheu,  how  well  it  is  with  thee !" 

And  as  he  gazed  on  her  lying  there,  he  said, — 

"  Ah,  thou  sweet  Lenichen,  thou  shalt  rise  again,  an^ 
shine  like  a  star  ;  yes,  like  the  sun  !" 

They  had  made  the  coffin  too  narrow  and  too  short,  am"* 
he  said, — 

"  The  bed  is  too  small  for  thee  !  I  am  mdeed  joyful  11 
spirit,  but  after  the  flesh  I  am  very  sad  ;  this  parting  is  sc 
beyond  measure  trying.  Wonderful  it  is  that  I  should 
know  she  is  certainiy  at  peace,  and  that  all  is  well  with 
her,  and  yet  should  be  so  sad." 

And  when  the  people  who  came  to  lay  out  the  corpse 
according  to  custom,  spoke  to  the  Doctor,  and  said  tbej 
were  sorry  for  his  affliction,  he  said, — 

"  You  should  rejoice.  I  have  sent  a  saint  to  heaven ; 
yes,  a  living  samt !  May  we  have  such  a  death  !  Such  a 
•death  1  would  gladly  die  this  very  hour." 

Then  said  one,  "  That  is  true  indeed ;  yet  every  ona 
would  wish  to  keep  his  own." 

^ctor  Martin  answered, — 


THEKLA'8  STORY. 


S07 


•*  Flesh  is  flesh,  and  bloc  d  is  blood.  I  am  glad  that  she 
»  yonder.     There  is  no  soirow  but  that  of  tlie  flesh." 

To  others  who  came  lie  said, — 

"  Grieve  not.  I  have  sent  a  saint  to  heaven ;  yes,  1 
have  sent  two  such  thither  !"  alluding  to  his  infan  j  Eliza- 
beth. 

As  they  were  chanting  by  the  corpse,  "  Lord,  remembet 
not  our  former  sins,  which  are  of  old,"  he  said, — 

"  I  say,  O  Lord,  not  our  former  sins  only,  nor  only  those 
of  old,  but  our  present  sins ;  for  we  are  usurers,  exactors, 
misers.  Yea,  the  abomination  of  the  Mass  is  still  in  the 
world !" 

When  the  coflin  was  closed,  and  she  was  buried,  he  said, 
'*  There  is  indeed  a  resurrection  of  the  body." 

And  as  they  returned  from  the  funeral,  he  said, — 

"  My  daughter  is  now  provided  for  in  body  and  souL 
Wq  Christians  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  we  know  it 
must  be  so.  We  are  more  certain  of  eternal  life  than  of 
anything  else  ;  for  God  who  has  promised  it  to  us  for  hia 
dear  Son's  sake,  can  never  lie.  Two  saints  of  my  flesh 
our  Lord  God  has  taken,  but  not  of  my  blood.  Flesh  and 
blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom." 

Among  other  things,  he  said, — 

"  We  must  take  great  care  for  our  children,  and  espe- 
cially for  the  poor  little  maidens  ;  we  must  not  leave  it  to 
others  to  care  for  them.  I  have  "no  compassion  on  the 
Doys.  A  lad  can  maintain  himself  Avherever  he  is,  if  he 
will  only  work  ;  and  if  lie  will  not  work,  he  is  a  scoundrel. 
But  the  poor  maiden-kind  must  have  a  staff  to  lean  on." 

And  again, — 

"  I  gave  this  daughter  very  willingly  to  our  God.  After 
the  flesh,  I  would  indeed  have  wished  to  keep  her  lonafc'r 
with  me  ;  but  since  he  has  taken  her  hence,  I  thank  Iiim." 

The  night  before  Magdalen  Luther  died,  her  mothei 
had  a  dream,  in  which  she  saw  two  men  clothed  i%  fail 


jo8  THE  aCHONBEBQ- GOTTA  FAMILY. 

raiment,  beautiful  and  young,  come  and  lead  her  daughtet 
away  to  her  bridal.  When,  on  the  next  morning,  Philip 
Melanctliou  came  into  the  cloister,  and  asked  her  how  her 
daughter  was,  she  told  him  her  dream. 

But  he  was  alarmed  at  it,  and  said  to  others, — 

"  Those  young  men  are  the  dear  angels  who  vnW  come 
*nd  lead  this  maiden  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  to  the 
true  Bridal." 

And  the  same  day  she  died. 

Some  little  time  after  her  death,  Dr.  Martin  Luther  said, — 

"  If  my  daughter  Magdalen  could  come  to  life  again, 
and  bring  with  her  to  me  the  Turkish  kmgdom,  I  would 
not  have  it.  Oh,  she  is  well  cared  for  :  '  Beati  mortui  qui 
m  Domino  moriuntur.'  Who  dies  thus,  certainly  has  eter- 
nal life.  I  would  that  I,  and  my  children,  and  yo  all  could 
thus  depart ;  for  evil  days  are  coming.  There  is  neither 
help  nor  counsel  more  on  earth.  I  see,  until  the  Judgment 
Day.  I  hope,  if  God  will,  it  will  not  be  long  delayed  ; 
for  coA'etousness  and  usury  increase." 

And  often  at  supper  he  repeated,  "  Et  multipicata  sunt 
mala  in  terris." 

He  himself  made  this  epitaph,  and  had  it  placed  on  hii 
Magdalen's  tomb : — 

"  Dormio  cum  Sanctis  hie  Magdalena  Lutheri 
Filia,  et  hoc  strato  tecta  quiesco  meo. 
Filia  mortis  eram.  peccati  semine  nata, 
Sangoine  sed  vivo,  Christe,  redempta  toa"  • 

•  k  friecd  hea  translated  it  thus : — 

1,  Luther's  daughter  Magdalen, 

Here  slumber  with  the  blest; 
Upon  this  bed  I  lay  my  bead, 

And  take  my  quiet  rest. 

I  was  a  child  of  death  on  earth, 
In  sin  my  life  was  given  ; 
^  But  on  the  tree  Christ  died  for  im^ 

^  And  new  I  lire  in  heaven. 


TEEKLA'S  8T0RT.  {oa 

[n  German, — 

"  Here  sleep  I  Lcnichen,  Dr.  Luther's  little  daugater, 
Rest  with  all  the  saints  in  my  little  bed ; 

I  who  was  born  in  sins. 

And  must  for  ever  have  been  lost. 

But  DOW  I  live,  and  all  is  well  with  me. 
Lord  Christ,  redeemed  wiili  thy  blood." 

Tet,  indeed,  although  lie  tries  to  cheer  others,  he  lamenti 
Ic  (g  and  deeply  himself,  as  many  of  his  letters  show. 
Co  Jonas  he  wrote, — 

'  I  think  you  will  have  heard  that  my  dearest  daughter 
M'>«k,tlalen  is  born  again  to  the  eternal  kingdom  of  Christ. 
Bp(,  <i5though  I  and  my  wife  ought  to  do  nothing  but  give 
thanv/,  rejoicing  in  so  happy  and  blessed  a  departure,  by 
which  t  he  has  escaped  the  poAv^er  of  the  flesh,  the  world, 
the  Tv.  k,  and  the  devil ;  yet  such  is  the  strength  of 
natural  .^flection,  that  we  cannot  part  with  her  without 
sobs  ant\  groans  of  heart.  They  cleave  to  our  heart,  they 
remain  fivt  d  in  its  depths — her  face,  her  words — the  looks, 
hving  and  dying,  of  that  most  dutiful  and  obedient  cliild ; 
BO  that  even  the  death  of  Christ  (and  what  are  all  deaths  in 
comparison  with  that  ?)  scarcely  can  efface  her  death  from 
our  minds.  Do  thou,  therefore,  give  thanks  to  God  in 
our  stead.  Wonder  at  the  great  work  of  God  who  thus 
glorifies  flesh  !  She  was,  as  thou  knowest,  gentle  and 
sweet  in  disjjosition,  and  was  altogether  lovely.  Blessed 
be  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  called  and  chose,  and  haa 
thus  magnified  her  !  I  wish  for  myself  and  all  mine,  tliat 
we  may  attain  to  such  a  death  ;  yea,  rather,  to  =uch  a  life, 
vvhicti  only  I  ask  from  God,  the  Father  of  all  consolatiui, 
»nd  mercy." 

And  again,  to  Jacob  Probst,  pastor  at  Bremen, — 
"  My  most  dear  child,  Magdalen,  has  dej)arted  to  her 
ueavenly  Father,  falling  asleep  full  of  faith  in  Christ.     An 


510  THE  SCHOKBEUO-COTTA  FAMILY. 

indignant  horror  against  death  softens  my  tears.  I  loved 
her  vehemently.  But  in  that  day  we  Bhall  be  avenged  on 
death,  and  on  him  who  is  the  author  of  death." 

And  to  Amsdorf, — 

"  Thanks  to  thee  for  endeavouring  to  console  me  on  the 
ieath  of  my  dearest  daughter.  I  loved  her  not  only  for 
Ihat  she  was  my  flesh,  but  fo:  her  most  placid  and  gentle 
Bpirit,  ever  so  dutiful  to  me.  But  now  I  rejoice  that  she 
is  gone  to  live  with  her  heavenly  Father,  and  is  fallen  into 
sweetest  sleep  until  that  day.  For  the  times  are  and  will 
be  worse  and  worse ;  and  in  my  heart  I  pray  that  to  thee, 
and  to  all  dear  to  me,  may  be  given  such  an  hour  of 
departure,  and  with  such  placid  quiet,  truly  to  fall  asleep 
in  the  Lord.  '  The  just  are  gathered^  and  rest  in  their  bedsJ* 
"•  For  verily  the  Avorld  is  as  a  horrible  Sodom.'  " 

A.nd  to  Lauterbach, — 

"  Thou  writest  well,  that  in  this  most  evil  age  death  (or 
more  truly,  sleep)  is  to  be  desired  by  all.  And  although 
the  departure  of  that  most  dear  child  has,  indeed,  no  little 
moved  me,  yet  I  rejoice  more  that  she,  a  daughter  of  the 
kingdom,  is  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  the  devil  and  the 
world ;  so  sweetly  did  she  fill  asleep  in  Christ." 

So  mournfully  and  tenderly  he  Avrites  and  speaks,  the 
shadow  of  that  sorrow  at  the  centre  of  his  life  overspread- 
ing the  whole  world  with  darkness  to  him.  Or  rather,  a« 
he  would  say,  the  joy  of  that  loving,  dutiful  child's  pres- 
ence being  withdrawn,  he  looks  out  from  his  cold  and 
darkened  hearth,  and  sees  the  world  as  it  is  ;  the  covetoiis- 
ness  of  the  rich ;  the  just  demands,  yet  insurrectionary 
attempts  of  the  poor  ;  the  war  with  the  Turks  wiihout, 
the  strife  in  the  empire  within  ;  the  fierce  animosities  of 
impending  religious  war  ;  the  lukewarmness  and  divisions 
among  his  friends.  For  many  years  God  gave  that  feelijig 
heart  a  refuge  from  all  these  in  the  bright,  unbroken  circle 
of  bis  home;     But  now  the  next  look  to  him  seems  beyond 


THEKLA'S  8T0RT.  5  i  j 

this  lifV; ;  U  death  which  unveils,  or  to  tlie  kiugdom  of 
truth  auvl  i-ighteousness,  and  love,  to  each,  one  by  one  ;  or 
still  more,  to  the  glorious  Advent  which  will  manifest  it 
%o  all.  Of  this  he  delights  to  speak.  The  end  of  the 
world,  he  feels  sure,  is  near ;  and  he  says  all  preachers 
should  tell  their  people  to  praj  for  its  coming,  as  the 
beginning  of  the  golden  age.  He  said  once—"  O  gracioue 
God,  come  soon  again  !  I  am  waiting  ever  for  the  day — 
the  spring  morning,  when  day  and  night  are  equal,  and 
the  clear,  bright  rose  of  that  dawn  shall  appear.  From 
that  glow  of  mornmg  I  imagine  a  thick,  black  cloud  will 
issue,  forked  with  lightning,  and  then  a  crash,  and  heaven 
and  earth  will  fall.  Praise  be  to  God,  who  has  taught  us 
to  long  and  look  for  that  day.     In  the  papacy,  they  sing, — 

'  Dies  irse,  dies  ilia ; ' 

but  we  look  forward  to  it  with  hope ;  and  I  trust  it  is  not 
far  distant." 

Yet  he  is  no  dreamer,  listlessly  clasping  his  hands  in  the 
night,  and  a\  atching  for  the  dawn.  He  is  of  the  day,  a 
child  of  the  light;  and  calmly,  and  often  cheerfully,  he 
pursues  his  hfe  of  ceaseless  toil  for  others,  considerately 
attending  to  the  wants  and  pleasures  of  all,  from  the  least 
to  the  greatest;  affectionately  desirous  to  pai't  with  liis 
plate,  rather  than  not  give  a  generous  reward  to  a  faithful 
old  servant,  who  was  retiring  from  his  service ;  pleading 
the  cause  of  the  helpless  ;  writing  letters  of  t^msolation  to 
the  hmnblest  who  need  his  aid  ;  caring  for  all  the  churclies, 
yet  steadily  disciplining  his  children  when  they  need  it,  or 
roady  to  enter  into  any  scheme  for  their  pleasure. 

WiTTENBEUG,  1545. 

IT  seems  as  if  Dr.  Luther  were  as  necessary  to  us  now  as 
when  he  g%\e  the  first  impulse  to  better  things,  by 
alhidng  hi-i  thesis  to  the  doors  of  Wittenberg,  or  when  the 


512 


TEE  SCEONBEtlQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


eyes  of  the  nation  centred  on  him  at  "Worms.  In  his  quiet 
borne  he  sits  and  holds  the  threads  which  guide  so  many 
lives,  and  the  destinies  of  so  many  Lands.  He  has  been 
often  .ailing  lately,  and  sometimes  very  seriously.  The  sel- 
fish luxury  of  the  rich  burghers  and  nobles  troubles  him 
mucli.  He  almost  forced  his  way  one  day  into  the  Elector's 
cabinet,  to  press  on  him  the  appropriation  of  some  of  the 
confiscated  church  revenues  to  the  payment  of  pastors  and 
schoolmasters ;  and  earnestly,  again  and  again,  from  the 
pulpit,  does  he  denounce  covetousness. 

"  All  other  vices,"  he  says,  "  bring  their  pleasures ;  but 
the  wretched  avaricious  man  is  the  slave  of  his  goods,  not 
their  master ;  he  enjoys  neither  this  world  nor  the  next. 
Here  he  has  purgatory,  and  there  hell;  while  faith  and 
content  bring  rest  to  the  soul  here,  and  afterwards  bring 
the  soul  to  heaven.  For  \the  avaricious  lack  what  they 
have,  as  well  as  what  they  have  not.'' 

Never  was  a  heart  more  free  from  selfish  interests  and 
aims  than  his.  His  faith  is  always  seeing  the  invisible 
God ;  and  to  him  it  seems  the  most  melancholy  folly,  aa 
well  as  sin,  that  people  should  build  their  nests  in  thi? 
forest,  on  all  whose  trees  he  sees  the  forester's  mark  of 
destruction. 

The  tone  of  his  preaching  has  often  lately  been  reproach- 
ful and  sad. 

Else's  Gretchen,  now  a  thoughful  maiden  of  three-and 
twenty,  said  to  me  the  other  day — 

"  Aunt  Thekla,  why  does  Dr.  Luther  preach  sometimes 
03  if  his  preaching  had  done  no  good  ?  Have  not  many  of 
the  evil  things  he  attacked  been  removed?  Is  not  the 
Bible  in  every  home  ?  Our  mother  says  we  cannot  be  too 
thankful  for  living  in  these  times,  when  we  are  taught  the 
truth  about  God,  and  are  given  a  religion  of  trust  and  (ove, 
mstead  of  one  of  distrust  and  dread.  Why  does  Dr. 
Luther  often  speak  as  if  nothing  tad  been  done?" 


THE  MOTHERS  STORY. 


5»3 


And  I  could  only  say — 

"We  see  -what  has  been  done;  but  Dr.  Luther  only 
knows  Avhat  he  hoped  to  do.  He  said  one  day — '  If  I  had 
known  at  first  that  men  were  so  hostile  to  the  word  of 
God,  I  should  have  held  my  peace.  I  imagined  that  they 
ginned  merely  through  ignorance.'  " 

"  I  suppose,  Gretchen,"  I  said,  "  that  he  had  before  him 
the  vision  of  the  whole  of  Christendom  flocking  to  adore 
and  serve  his  Lord,  Avhen  once  he  had  shown  them  how 
good  he  is.  We  see  what  Dr.  Luther  has  done.  He  sees 
what  he  hoped,  and  contrasts  it  with  what  is  left  undone." 


THE  MOTHER'S   STORY 

1D0  not  think  there  is  another  old  man  and  woman  m 
Christendom  who  ought  to  be  so  thankful  as  my  hus- 
band and  I. 

No  doubt  all  parents  are  inclined  to  look  at  the  best  side 
of  Dlieir  own  children ;  but  with  ours  there  is  really  no 
other  side  to  look  at,  it  seems  to  me.  Perhaps  Else  has 
sometimes  a  little  too  much  of  my  anxious  mind  ;  but  even 
in  her  tender  heart,  as  in  all  the  others,  there  is  a  large 
measure  of  her  father's  hopefulness.  And  then,  although 
they  have,  perhaps,  none  of  them  quite  his  inventive 
genius,  yet  that  seems  hardly  a  matter  of  regret ;  because, 
as  things  go  m  the  world,  other  people  seem  so  often,  at 
the  very  goal,  to  step  in  and  reap  the  fruit  of  these  inven 
lions,  just  by  adding  some  insignificant  detail  which  makes 
\he  invention  work,  and  gives  them  the  appearance  of  hav« 
Jig  been  the  real  discoverers. 

Not  that  I  mean  to  murmur  for  one  instant  against  the 

people  who  have  this  little  knack  of  just  putting  the  finish- 

mg  touch  and  making  things  succeed ,  that  also,  as  the 

house  father  says,  is  God's  gift,  and  although  it  cannot  ccr 

22* 


5 1 4  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FaMIL  7. 

tainly  be  compared  to  those  great,  lofty  thoughts  and  plana 
of  iny  husband's,  it  has  more  current  value  in  the  world. 
Not,  again,  that  I  would  for  an  instant  murmur  at  the 
world.  We  have  all  so  much  more  in  it  than  we  deserve 
(except,  perhaps,  my  dearest  husband,  who  cares  so  little 
for  its  rewarus !)  It  has  been  quite  wonderful  how  good 
every  one  has  been  to  us.  Gottfried  Reichenbach,  and  all 
our  sons-in-law,  are  like  sons  to  us ;  and  certainly  could 
not  have  prized  our  daughters  more  if  they  had  had  the 
dowry  of  princesses ;  although  I  must  candidly  say  I  think 
our  dear  daughters  without  a  ki'eutzer  of  dowry  are  worth 
a  fortune  to  any  man.  I  often  wonder  how  it  is  they  are 
siich  house-wives,  and  so  sensible  and  wise  in  every  way, 
when  I  never  considered  mj^self  at  all  a  first-rate  manager. 
To  be  sure  their  father's  conversation  was  ahvays  very  im- 
proving ;  and  my  dear  blessed  mother  was  a  storehouse  of 
wisdom  and  experience.  However,  there  is  no  accounting 
for  these  things.  God  is  wonderfully  good  in  blessing  the 
humblest  efforts  to  train  up  the  little  ones  for  him.  We 
often  think  the  poverty  of  their  early  years  was  quite  a 
school  of  patience  and  household  virtues  for  them  all. 
Even  Christopher  and  Thekla,  who  caused  us  more  anxiety 
at  first  than  the  others,  are  the  very  stay  and  joy  of  our 
old  age ;  which  shows  how  little  we  can  foresee  what  good 
things  God  is  preparing  for  us. 

How  I  used  at  one  time  to  tremble  for  them  both  !  It 
shocked  Else  and  me  so  grievously  to  see  Christopher,  as 
we  thought,  quite  turning  his  back  on  religion,  after  Fritz 
became  a  monk ;  and  what  a  relief  it  was  to  see  him  find 
in  Dr.  Luther's  sermons  and  in  the  Bible  the  truth  which 
bowed  his  heart  in  reverence,  yet  left  his  character  free  to 
develop  itself  without  behig  compressed  into  a  mould  made 
f&r  other  characters.  What  a  relief  it  Avas  to  hear  that  he 
turned,  not  from  rehgion,  but  from  what  «'as  false  in  the 
religion  then  taught,  and  to  see  him  devotijig  himself  to 


TEE  MO TEEli\S  STORY.  5 1 5 

his  calling  as  a  printer  with  a  feeling  as  saci'ed  as  Fritz  to 
his  work  as  a  pastor ! 

Then  onr  Thekla,  how  anxious  I  was  about  her  at  one 
time !  how  eager  to  take  her  training  out  of  God's  hands 
into  ray  own,  which  I  thought,  in  my  ignorance,  might 
spare  her  fervent,  enthusiastic,  loving  heart  some  pain. 

I  wanted  to  tame  down  and  moderate  everything  in  her 
by  tender  warnings  and  wise  precepts.  I  wanted  her  to 
love  less  vehemently,  to  rejoice  wnth  more  limitation,  to 
grieve  more  moderately.  I  tried  hard  to  compress  her 
character  into  a  narrower  mould.  But  God  Avould  not 
nave  it  so.  I  can  see  it  all  now.  She  was  to  love  and  re- 
joice, and  then  to  weep  and  lament,  according  to  the  full 
measure  of  her  heart,  that  in  the  heights  and  depths  to 
which  God  led  her,  she  might  learn  what  she  was  to  learn 
of  the  heights  and  depths  of  the  love  which  extends  beyond 
all  joy  and  below  all  sorrow.  Her  character,  instead  of 
becoming  dwarfed  and  stunted,  as  my  ignorant  hand  might 
have  made  it,  was  to  be  thus  braced,  and  strengthened, 
and  rooted,  that  others  might  find  shelter  beneath  her 
sympathy  and  love,  as  so  many  do  now.  I  would  have 
weakened  in  order  to  soften;  God's  providence  has 
strengthened  and  expanded  while  softening,  and  made  her 
strong  to  endure  and  pity  as  well  as  strong  to  feel. 

No  one  can  say  what  she  is  to  us,  the  one  left  entirely 
to  us,  to  whom  we  are  still  the  nearest  and  the  dearest, 
who  binds  our  years  together  by  the  unbroken  memory  of 
her  tender  care,  and  makes  us  young  in  her  cliildlike  love, 
Mid  brings  into  our  failing  life  the  activity  and  interest  of 
mature  age  by  her  own  life  of  active  benevolence. 

Else  and  her  household  are  the  delight  of  our  daily  life; 
Eva  and  Fritz  are  our  most  precious  and  consecrated 
treasures,  and  all  the  rest  are  good  and  dear  as  children 
can  be ;  but  to  all  the  rest  we  are  the  grandmother  anj 
the  grandfather.  To  Thekla  wo  are  "  father  "  and  "  mother" 


5'< 


THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


still,  tlie  shelter  of  her  life  and  the  home  of  her  affcctionsL 
Only,  sometimes  my  old  anxious  fears  creep  over  me  when 
I  think  what  she  will  do  when  we  are  gone.  But  I  have 
no  excuse  for  these  now,  with  all  those  promises  of  our 
Lord,  and  his  words  about  the  lilies  and  the  birds,  jn  plain 
German  in  my  Bible,  and  the  very  same  lilies  and  birds 
preaching  to  me  in  song  as  plain  from  the  eaves  and  the 
garden  outside  my  window. 

Never  did  any  woman  owe  so  much  to  Dr.  Luther  and 
the  Reformation  as  I.  Christopher's  religion ;  Fritz  and 
Eva's  marriage ;  Thekla's  presence  in  our  home,  instead  o* 
her  being  a  nun  in  some  convent-prison ;  all  the  love  of 
the  last  months  my  dear  sister  Agnes  and  I  spent  together 
before  her  peaceful  death ;  and  the  great  weight  of  fear 
.'enioved  from  my  own  heart ! 

And  yet  my  timid,  ease-loving  nature,  will  sometimes 
shrink,  not  so  much  from  what  has  been  done,  as  from  the 
\^•ay  ir  which  it  has  been  done.  I  fancy  a  little  more 
gentleness  might  have  prevented  so  terrible  a  breach  be- 
tween the  new  and  the  old  religions ;  that  the  peasant  war 
might  have  been  saved ;  and  somehow  or  other  (how,  I 
cannot  at  all  tell)  the  good  people  on  both  sides  might  have 
been  kept  at  one.  For  that  there  are  good  people  on  both 
sides,  nothing  will  ever  make  me  doubt.  Indeed,  is  not 
one  of  our  own  sons — our  good  and  sober-minded  Pollux 
— still  in  the  old  Church  ?  And  can  I  doubt  that  he  and 
'lis  devout,  affectionate  little  wife,  who  visits  the  poor  and 
nurses  the  sick,  love  God  and  try  to  serve  him? 

In  truth,  I  cannot  help  half  counting  it  among  our 
^mercies  that  we  have  one  son  still  adhering  to  the  old  re- 
ligion ;  although  my  children,  who  are  wiser  than  I,  do  not 
think  so ;  nor  my  husband,  who  is  wiser  than  they ;  nor 
Dr.  Luther,  who  is,  on  the  whole,  I  believe,  wiser  than  any 
one.  Perhaps  I  should  rather  say,  that  great  as  the  grief 
is  to  us  and  the  loss  to  him,  I  c-annot  help  seeing  some  good 


THE  MO TEERS  STORY,  517 

In  our  Pollux,  remaiuing  as  a  link  between  us  auvl  the  re- 
ligion of  our  lathers.  It  seems  to  remind  ns  of  the  tie  of 
our  common  creation  and  redemption,  and  our  common 
faith,  however  dim,  in  our  Creator  and  Redeemer.  It  pre- 
vents our  thinking  all  Christendom  which  belongs  to  the 
old  religion  quite  the  same  as  the  pagans  or  the  Turks ; 
and  it  also  helps  a  little  to  prevent  their  thinking  us  such 
hopeless  infidels. 

Besides,  although  they  would  not  admit  it,  I  feel  suro 
that  Dr.  Luther  and  the  Reformation  have  taught  Pollux 
and  his  wife  many  things.  They  also  have  a  German 
Bible;  and  although  it  is  much  more  cumbrous  than  Dr. 
Luther's,  and,  it  seems  to  me,  not  half  such  genuine,  hearty 
German,  still  he  and  his  wife  can  read  it;  and  I  sometimes 
trust  we  shall  find  by-and-by  we  did  not  really  difter  so 
very  much  about  our  Saviour,  although  we  may  have  dif- 
fered about  Dr.  Luther. 

Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  however,  in  thinking  that  great 
changes  might  have  been  more  quietly  accomplished. 
Thekla  says  the  spring  must  have  its  thunder-storms  as 
well  as  its  sunshine  and  gentle  showers,  and  that  the  stone 
coidd  not  be  rolled  away  from  the  sepulchre,  nor  the  veil 
rent  in  the  holy  place,  without  an  earthquake. 

Else's  Gottfried  says  the  devil  would  never  suffer  lii.s 
lies  about  the  good  and  gracious  God  to  be  set  aside  with- 
out a  battle ;  and  that  the  dear  holy  angels  have  mighty 
wars  to  wage,  as  well  as  silent  watch  to  keep  by  the 
cradles  of  the  little  ones.  Only  I  cannot  help  wishing  that 
the  reformers,  and  even  Dr.  Luther  himself,  would  follow 
the  example  of  the  archangel  iNIichael  in  not  retuming 
railing  for  railing. 

Of  one  thing,  hoAvever,  I  am  quite  sure,  whatever  any 
!>ne  may  say;  and  that  is,  that  it  is  among  our  great 
mercies  that  our  Atlantis  married  a  Swiss,  so  that  through 
her  we  have  a  link  with    our   brethren   the   evangelical 


5i8  THE  8CE()NBER0-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

Christians  who  follow  the  ZAvinglian  Confessioe.  I  shal 
always  be  thankful  for  the  months  her  father  and  A  passed 
under  their  roof.  If  Dr.  Luther  could  only  kr>ow  how 
tliey  revere  him  for  his  noble  work,  and  how  one  they  are 
with  us  and  him  in  faith  in  Christ  and  Christian  lovo ! 

I  was  a  little  peiplexed  at  one  time  how  it  coud  be  that 
8uch  good  men  should  separate,  until  Thekla  reminded  me 
of  that  evil  one  who  goes  about  accusing  God  to  us,  aui 
us  to  one  another. 

On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  Zwinglians  are  severe 
on  Dr.  Luther  for  his  "  com2)romise  with  Rome,"  and  hia 
"  unscriptural  doctrines,"  as  some  of  them  call  his  teach- 
mgs  about  the  sacraments. 

These  are  things  on  which  my  head  is  not  clear  enough 
to  reason.  It  is  always  so  much  more  natural  to  me  to 
look  out  for  the  points  of  agreement  than  of  ditference  ;  and 
it  does  seem  to  me,  that  deep  below  all  the  diflerences 
good  men  often  mean  the  same.  Dr.  Luther  looks  on  holy 
Baptism  in  contrast  with  the  monastic  vows,  and  asserts 
the  common  glory  of  the  baptism  and  Christian  profession 
■which  all  Christians  shax*e,  against  the  exclusive  claims  of 
any  section  of  priests  and  monks.  And  in  the  Holy  Sup- 
per, it  seems  to  me  simply  the  certainty  of  the  blessing, 
and  the  reality  of  the  presence  of  our  Saviour  in  the  sacra- 
ment, that  he  is  really  vindicating,  in  his  stand  on  the 
words,  "  This  is  my  body."  Baptism  represents  to  him 
the  consecration  and  priesthood  of  all  Christians,  to  be 
defended  against  all  narrow  privileges  of  particular  orders ; 
the  Holy  Supper,  the  assured  presence  of  Christ,  to  be  do- 
fendcd  against  all  doubters. 

To  the  Swiss,  on  the  other  hand,  the  contrast  is  between 
faith  and  form,  letter  ani  spirit.  This  is,  at  all  events, 
what  ray  husband  thinks 

I  wish  Dr.  Luther  wo  ild  spend  a  few  months  with  oui 
Atlantic  and  her  Conrad.   I  shall  always  be  thankful  we  did- 


TEE  MOTHERS  STORY. 


5'9 


Lately,  the  tone  of  Dr.  Luther's  preaching  has  often 
been  rei)roachful  and  full  of  warning.  These  divisions  bo 
tAveen  the  evangelical  Cliristians  distress  him  so  mucii 
^et  he  himself,  with  that  resolute  will  of  his,  keeps  them 
apart,  as  he  would  keep  his  children  from  poison,  saying 
gevcre  and  bitter  things  of  the  Zwinglians,  which  somo 
wiines  grieve  me  much,  because  I  know  Conrad  Winkel- 
ried's  parish  and  Atlantis'  home. 

,  Well,  one  thing  is  certain :  if  Dr.  Luther  had  been  like 
me,  we  should  have  had  no  Reformation  at  all.  And  Dr. 
Luther  and  the  Keformation  have  brought  peace  to  my 
heart  and  joy  to  my  life,  for  which  I  would  go  through 
any  storms.  Only,  to  leave  our  dear  ones  behind  in  the 
storms  is  another  thing ! 

But  our  dear  heavenly  Father  has  not,  indeed,  called  U8 
to  leave  them  yet.  When  he  does  call  us,  he  will  give  us 
the  strength  for  that.  And  then  we  shall  see  everything 
quite  cleai'ly,  because  we  shall  see  our  Saviour  quite  clearly 
as  he  is,  know  his  love,  and  love  him  quite  perfectly. 
What  that  Avill  be  we  know  not  yet ! 

But  I  am  quite  persuaded  that  wlien  we  do  really  see 
our  blessed  Lord  face  to  face,  and  see  all  things  in  his  light, 
we  shall  all  be  very  much  surprised,  and  find  we  have 
something  to  xuilearn,  as  well  as  infinitely  much  to  learn  ; 
not  Pollux,  and  the  Zwinglians,  and  1  only,  but  Dr.  Philip 
Melancthon,  and  Dr.  Luther,  and  aU  ! 

For  the  Reformation,  and  even  Dr.  Luther's  German 
Bible,  have  not  taken  all  the  clouds  away.  Still,  we  see 
through  a  glass  darkly. 

But  they  have  taught  us  that  there  is  nothing  evil  and 
dark  behind  to  be  found  out ;  only,  much  to  bo  revealed 
which  is  too  good  for  us  yet  to  understand,  and  too  liighl 
U  T  US  yet  to  see. 


XXL 

EVA'S    AND    AGNES'S    STC  XY. 


1  ISLEBEN,    1542. 

UNT  ELSE  says  no  one  in  tho  world  ought  to 
present  more  thanksgivings  to  rxod  than  Heinz 
and  I,  and  I  am  sure  she  is  ri^ht. 

In  the  first  place,  we  have  tht»  best  father  and 
mother  in  the  world,  so  that  whenever  from  our  earliest  years 
they  have  spoken  to  iis  about  our  Father  in  heaven,  we  have 
had  just  to  think  of  what  they  were  on  earth  to  us,  and 
feel  that  all  their  love  and  goodness  together  are  what 
God  is  ;  only  (if  we  can  conceive  such  a  thing)  much  more. 
We  have  only  had  to  add  to  what  they  are,  to  lenrn  what 
God  is,  not  to  take  anything  away;  to  say  to  ourselves,  as 
we  think  of  our  parents,  so  kind  in  judging  others,  so  lov- 
ing, so  truu,  ■■  God  iS  like  that — only  the  love  is  greater 
and  wiser  than  our  father's,  tenderer  and  more  sympathiz- 
ing than  our  mother's  "  (difficult  as  it  is  to  imagine).  And 
then  there  is  just  one  thing  in  which  he  is  unlike.  His 
povv  or  is  unbounded.  He  can  do  for  us  and  give  to  iw 
every  blessing  he  sees  it  good  to  give. 

Vv'ith  such  a  father  and  mother  on  earth,  and  such  a 

Father  in  heaven,  and  "vrith  Heinz,  how  can  I  ever  thank 

3ur  God  enough? 

And  our  mother  is  so  yourg  still ! 

(620j 


Our  dear  father  said 


EVA'S  AND  AGNES' S  ST0R7.  5, 

thu  jther  day,  "b^ir  hair  has  not  a  tinge  of  grey  in  it,  but 
is  aw  golden  as  ouv  Agnes's."  And  her  face  is  so  fair  and 
sweet,  and  her  voice  so  clear  and  full  m  Her  own  lear 
hymns,  or  in  t?7king !  Aunt  Else  says,  it  makes  one  fed 
at  rest  to  look  at  her,  and  that  her  voice  always  Avas  the 
sweetest  in  the  world,  something  between  church  musio 
and  the  cooijig  of  a  dove.  Aunt  Else  says  also,  that  even 
as  a  child  phe  had  just  the  same  way  she  has  now  of  seeing 
what  yo'J  are  thinking  about — of  coming  into  your  heart 
and  mitkicg  everything  that  is  good  in  it  feel  it  is  under- 
stood, and  all  that  is  bad  in  it  feel  detected  and  shnk 
away. 

Ocr  dear  father  does  not,  indeed,  look  so  young  ;  but  1 
.'ike  men  to  look  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  wars — as  if  their 
Hearts  had  been  w«l]  ploughed  and  sown.  And  the  grey 
in  his  hair,  and  the  furrows  on  his  forehead — those  two 
upright  ones  Avhen  he  is  thinking — and  the  firm  compres- 
sion of  his  mouth,  and  the  hollow  on  his  cheek,  seem  to  me 
quite  as  beautiful  in  their  way  as  our  mother's  placid  brow, 
and  the  dear  look  on  her  lips,  like  the  dawn  of  a  smile,  as 
if  the  law  of  kindness  had  moulded  every  curve. 

Then,  in  the  second  place  (perhaps  I  ought  to  have  said 
in  the  first),  we  have  "  the  Catechism."  And  Aunt  Else 
says  we  have  no  idea,  Ileinz  and  I^  what  a  blessing  that  is 
to  us.  We  certainly  did  not  always  think  it  a  blessing 
when  we  were  learning  it.  But  I  begin  to  understand  it 
now,  especially  since  I  have  been  staying  at  Wittenberg 
with  Aunt  Else,  and  she  has  told  me  about  the  perplexitit^ 
Df  her  childhood  and  early  youth. 

Always  to  have  learned  about  God  as  the  Father  who 
"cares  for  us  everyday" — gives  us  richly  all  things  to 
enjoy,  and  "that  all  out  of  pure,  fatherly,  divine  love  and 
goodness ;  and  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  that  he  has  re- 
deemed me  from  all  sin,  from  death,  and  from  the  power 
*ii  the  devil,  to  be  Ids  own— redeemed  uic,  not  with  gold 


VIZ  2 'UE  S CnONBEE G-COTTA  FAMIL T. 

and  silver,  but  with  his  holy,  precious  blood;"  and  of  thfl 
Holy  Spirit,  that  "  he  dwells  with  us  daily,  calls  us  by  his 
Gosi^el,  enlightens,  and  richly  forgives ;" — all  this,  she  says, 
IS  tlie  greatest  blessing  any  one  can  know.  To  have  no 
dark,  suspicious  thoughts  of  the  good  God,  unconsciously 
drunk  in  from  infancy,  to  dash  away  from  our  hearts — Dr. 
Luther  himself  says  Ave  have  little  idea  Avhat  a  gift  that  ij 
to  us  young  people  of  this  generation. 

It  used  to  be  like  listening  to  histories  of  dark  days  cen- 
turies  ago,  to  hear  Aunt  Else  speak  of  her  childhood  at 
Eisenach,  when  Dr.  Luther  also  was  a  boy,  and  used  to 
sing  for  bread  at  our  good  kinswoman  Ursula  Cotta's  door 
— when  the  monks  and  nuns  from  the  many  high-"\v ailed 
convents  used  to  walk  demurely  in  their  dark  robes  atrotit 
the  streets;  and  Aunt  Else  used  to  tremble  at  the  thought 
of  heaven,  because  it  might  be  like  a  convent  garden,  and 
all  the  heavenly  saints  like  Aunt  Agnes. 

Our  dear  Great-Aunt  Agnes,  iiow  impossible  for  us  to 
understand  her  being  thus  dreaded ! — she  who  was  the 
playmate  of  our  childhood,  and  used  to  spoil  iis,  our  mother 
said,  by  doing  everything  we  asked,  and  making  us  think 
she  enjoyed  being  pulled  about,  and  made  a  lion  or  a  Turk 
of,  as  much  as  we  enjoyed  it.  Hoav  Avell  I  remember  now 
the  pang  that  came  over  Heinz  and  me  when  we  were  told 
to  speak  and  step  softly,  because  she  was  ill,  and  then, 
taken  for  a  few  minutes  i.i  the  day  to  sit  quite  still  by  he' 
bed-side  with  picture-books,  because  she  loved  to  look  uw 
'is,  but  could  not  bear  any  noise.  And  at  last  the  d«/ 
when  we  were  led  in  solemnly,  and  she  could  look  at  u  i  uo 
more,  but  lay  quite  stiil  and  white,  while  we  placed  (>\xv 
flowers  on  the  bed,  and  we  both  felt  it  too  sacred  and  too 
much  like  being  at  church  to  cry, —  until  our  evei  ing 
prayer-time  came,  and  our  mother  told  us  that  Aun/ 
Agnos  did  not  need  our  prayers  any  longor,  because  Go^ 
ba-d  made  her  quite  good  and  happy  in   heaven.     An<? 


EVA'S  AXD  AGNES' S  STORY.  523 

Heinz  said  he  wished  Gcd  would  take  i;s  all,  and  make  ni 
quite  good  and  happy  with  her.  But  I,  when  we  wer« 
left  in  our  cribs  alone,  sobbed  myself  to  sleep.  It  seemed 
so  terrible  to  think  Aunt  Agnes  did  not  want  us  any  more, 
and  that  we  could  do  nothing  more  for  her — she  who  had 
been  so  tenderly  good  to  us !  I  was  so  afraid,  also,  that 
we  had  not  been  kind  enough  to  her,  had  teased  lier  to 
play  with  us,  and  made  more  noise  than  we  ought ;  and 
that  that  was  the  reason  God  had  taken  her  away.  Heina 
could  not  understand  that  at  all.  He  was  quite  sure  God 
was  too  kind;  and  although  he  also  cried,  he  soon  fell 
asleep.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  me  when  our  mother  came 
round,  as  she  always  did  the  last  thing  to  see  if  Ave  Avere 
asleep,  and  I  could  sob  out  my  troubles  on  her  heart,  svid 
Bay— 

"  Will  Aunt  Agnes  never  want  us  any  more  ?" 

"  Yes,  darling,"  said  our  mother ;  "  she  wants  us  now. 
She  is  waiting  for  us  all  to  come  to  her." 

"  Then  it  was  not  because  we  teased  hei",  and  were  noisy, 
she  was  taken  away  ?  We  did  love  her  so  very  dearly ! 
And  can  we  do  nothing  for  her  now  ?" 

Then  she  told  me  how  Aunt  Agnes  had  suffered  mnch 
here,  and  that  our  Heavenly  Father  had  taken  her  home, 
and  that  although  we  could  not  do  anything  for  her  now, 
Ave  need  not  leave  her  name  out  of  our  nightly  prayers, 
because  Ave  could  always  say,  "Thank  God  for  taking  dear 
Aunt  Agnes  home !" 

And  so  two  things  Avere  written  on  my  heart  that  night, 
that  there  was  a  place  like  home  beyond  the  sky,  where 
Annt  Agnes  Avas  waiting  for  us,  loving  us  quite  as  nnu-li 
afi  ever,  Avith  God  who  loved  us  more  than  any  one  ;  ami 
that  Ave  must  be  as  kind  as  possible  to  pcojile,  and  not  givo 
any  one  a  moment's  pain,  because  a  time  may  come  Avlien 
they  Avill  not  need  our  kindness  any  more. 

It  IS  very  difficult  for  me  who  always  thinks  of  Aint 


524 


THE  SCHONDEEO-COTTA  FAMILY, 


Agnes  waiting  for  us  in  heaven,  with  the  wistful  w  ving 
look  si  e  iised  to  have  when  she  lay  watching  for  tleina 
and  me  to  come  and  sit  by  her  bedside,  to  imagine  what 
different  thoughts  Aunt  Else  had  about  her  when  she  was 
a  nun. 

But  Aunt  Else  says  she  has  no  doubt  that  Heinz  and  I, 
^ith  our  tensing,  and  ouy  noise,  and  our  love  were  among 
the  chief  instruments  of  her  sanctification.  Yes  those  days 
of  Aunt  Else's  childhood  appear  as  far  away  from  us  as 
the  days  of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  who  lived  at  the 
Wartburg,  used  to  seem  from  Aunt  Else.  It  is  wonder- 
ful to  think  what  that  miner's  son,  whom  old  John  Rci 
neck  remembers  carrying  on  h's  shoulders  to  tlie  school- 
house  up  the  hill,  here  at  Eislel  n,  has  done  for  us  all.  So 
completely  that  grim  old  time  seems  to  have  passed  away. 
There  is  not  a  monastery  left  in  all  Saxony,  and  the  pas- 
tors are  all  married,  and  schools  are  established  in  every 
town,  where  Dr.  Luther  says  the  young  lads  and  maidens 
hear  more  about  God  and  Christianity  than  the  nuns  and 
monks  in  all  the  convents  had  learned  thirty  years  ago. 

Not  that  all  the  boys  and  maidens  are  good  as  they 
ought  to  be.  No ;  that  is  too  plain  from  Avhat  Heinz  and  1 
feel  and  know,  and  also  from  Avhat  our  dear  father  preaches 
in  the  pulpit  on  Sundays.  Our  mother  says  sometimes 
she  is  afraid  we  of  this  generation  shall  gi'ow  up  weak,  and 
self-indulgent,  and  ease-loving,  imlike  our  fathers  who  had 
to  figlit  for  every  inch  of  the  truth  they  hold,  with  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil. 

But  our  dear  father  smiles  gravely,  and  says,  she  need 
not  fear.  These  three  enemies  are  not  slain  yet,  and  will 
give  the  young  generation  enougli  to  do.  Besides,  the 
Pope  is  still  reigning  at  Rome,  and  the  Emperor  is  even 
now  threatening  us  Avith  an  army,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
Turks,  and  the  Anabaptists,  of  whom  Dr.  Luther  says  m 
much, 


BrJ'5  AND  AGNES'::,  STORY.  521 

T  knew  very  little  of  the  world  until  two  years  ago,  and 
not  much,  I  am  afraid,  of  myself.  But  when  I  was  about 
fifteen  I  went  alone  to  stay  with  Aunt  Chriemhild  and 
Aunt  Else,  and  then  I  learned  many  things  which  in  learn- 
ing troubled  me  not  a  little,  but  now  that  they  are  learned 
make  me  happier  than  before,  which  our  mother  says  is 
the  way  with  most  of  God's  lessons.  Before  these  visits, 
I  had  never  left  home  ;  and  although  Heinz  who  had  been 
away,  and  was  also  natui-ally  more  throAVTi  with  other 
people  as  a  boy  than  I  was,  often  told  me  I  knew  no  more 
of  actual  life  than  a  baby,  I  never  understood  what  he 
meant. 

I  suppose  I  had  always  unconsciously  thought  our 
father  and  mother  were  the  centre  of  the  world  to  every 
one  as  Avell  as  to  us  ;  and  had  just  been  thankful  for  my 
lot  in  life,  because  I  believed  in  all  respects  no  one  else  had 
anything  like  it ;  and  entertained  a  quiet  conviction  that 
in  their  hearts  every  one  thought  the  same.  And  to  find 
that  to  other  people  our  lot  in  life  seemed  pitiable  and 
poor  was  an  immense  surprise  to  me,  and  no  little  grief. 

We  left  our  old  home  in  the  forest  many  years  since, 
when  Heinz  and  I  Avere  quite  children ;  and  it  only  ling- 
ered in  our  memories  as  a  kind  of  Eden  or  foiryland, 
where  amongst  wild  flowers,  and  green  glades,  and  sing- 
ing birds,  and  streams,  we  made  a  home  for  all  our  dreams, 
not  questioning,  however,  in  our  hearts  that  our  new  homo 
at  Eisleben  was  quite  as  excellent  in  its  Avay.  Have  w  e 
not  a  garden  behind  the  house  with  several  apple-tret-s. 
and  a  pond  as  large  as  any  of  our  neighbours,  and  ;^r. 
empty  loft  for  wet  d:>vs — the  perfection  of  a  loft — for 
telling  fairy  tales  in,  or  roaking  experiments,  or  preparin;? 
surprises  of  wonderful  cabinet  work  with  Heinz's  to(^ls  ? 
And  has  not  our  Eisleben  vaJlov  also  its  green  and  wooded 
hills,  and  in  I  he  forests  around  are  tiiere  not  str-ange  glo"»'9 
all  night  from  the  great  miners'  Ai<-n*cps  to  which  Uv.s«  of 


526  THE  SCEONBERO  COTTA  FAMILF. 

the  charcoal  burners  in  the  Thiiringian  forest  are  meit 
toys  ?  And  are  there  not,  moreover,  all  kinds  of  wild 
caverns  and  pits  fx-om  which  at  intervals  the  miners  come 
tbrth,  grimy  and  indcpeadent,  and  sing  their  Avild  songs  in 
I'Lorus  as  they  come  home  from  work  ?  And  is  not  Eisle 
ben  Dr.  liUther's  birth-place  ?  And  have  we  not  a  high 
|Tammar-school  which  Dr.  Luthe.v  founded,  and  in  which 
u>uv  dear  father  teaches  Latin "?  And  do  we  not  hear  him 
pv^ach  once  every  Sunday  ? 

To  me  it  always  seemed,  and  seems  Rtill,  that  nothing 
can  be  nobler  than  our  dear  father's  office  of  telling  the 
people  the  way  to  heaven  on  Sundays,  and  teaching  their 
children  the  way  to  be  wise  and  good,  on  ej^rth  in  the  week. 
It  was  a  shock  to  me  when  I  found  every  one  did  not 
think  the  same. 

Not  that  every  one  was  not  always  moiit  kind  to  me, 
but  it  hap2:)ened  in  this  way. 

One  day  some  visitors  had  been  at  Uncle  Ulrich's  castle. 
They  had  complimented  me  on  my  golden  hair,  Avhicb 
Heinz  always  says  is  the  colour  of  the  princess'  in  the 
fairy  tale.  I  went  out  at  Aunt  Chriemhild's  desire,  feeling 
half  shy  and  half  flattered,  to  play  with  my  cousins  in  the 
forest.  As  I  was  sitting  hidden  among  the  trees,  twining 
wreaths  from  the  forget-me-nots  my  cousins  were  gather- 
ing by  the  stream  below,  these  ladies  passed  again.  1 
"^  heard  on  8  of  them  say, — 

*  Yes,  she  is  a  well-mannered  little  thing  for  a  school 
master's  flaughter." 

"  I  cannot  think  where  a  burgher  naaid — the  Cottas  are 
all  burghers,  are  they  not  ? — should  inherit  those  little 
white  hands  and  those  delicate  features,"  said  the  other. 

"  Poor,  too,  doubtless,  as  they  must  be,"  was  the  reply, 
'*  one  would  think  she  had  never  had  to  work  about  ^V 
house,  as  no  doubt  she  must." 

"Who  was  her  grandfather?" 


EVA'S  AND  AGJt^ES'S  STOUT. 


5*7 


"  Only  a  printer  at  Wittenberg  !" 
"  Only  a  schoolmaster !"  and  "  only  a  printer !" 
My  whole  h6art  was  against  the  scornful  words.     Was 
this  what  people  meant  by  paying  compliments?     Was- 
this  the  estimate  my  father  was  held  in  in  the  world — he, 
the  noblest  man  in  it,  wlio  was  fit  to  be  the  Elector  or  the 
Emperor  ?   A  bitter  feeling  came  over  me,  which  I  thought 
was  aifection  and  an  aggi-ieved  sense  of  justice.     But  lo\e 
is  scarcely  so  bitter,  or  justice  so  fiery. 

I  did  not  tell  any  one,  nor  did  I  shed  a  tear,  but  went 
on  weaving  my  forget-me-not  wreaths,  and  forswore  the 
wicked  and  hollow  world.  Had  I  not  promised  to  do  so 
long  since,  through  my  godmother,  at  my  baptism  ?  Now, 
I  thought,  I  was  learning  what  all  that  meant. 

At  Aunt  Else's,  however,  another  experience  awaited 
me.  There  was  to  be  a  fliir,  and  we  were  all  to  go  in  our 
best  holiday  dresses.  My  cousins  had  rich  Oriental  jewels 
on  their  bodices ;  and  although,  as  burgher  maidens,  they 
might  not,  like  my  cousins  at  the  castle,  wear  velvets,  they 
had  jacke ,«  and  dresses  of  the  stiifest,  richest  silks  whicn 
Uncle  Re  chenbach  had  brought  from  Italy  and  the  East. 

My  stv  f  dress  certainly  looked  plain  beside  them,  but 
I  did  no''  care  in  tlie  least  for  that ;  my  own  dear  mother 
and  I  h?d  made  it  together  ;  and  she  had  hunted  up  some 
old  precious  stores  to  make  me  a  taffetas  jacket,  which,  aa 
it  was  the  most  magnificent  apparel  I  had  ever  possessed, 
we  both  looked  at  Avith  much  complacency.  Nor  did  it 
seem  to  me  in  the  least  less  beautiful  now.  The  touch  of 
my  mother's  fingers  had  been  on  it,  as  slie  smoothed  it 
round  me  the  evening  before  T  came  away.  And  Aunt 
Else  had  Haid  it  Avas  exactly  like  my  mother.  But  my 
cousins  wore  not  quite  pleased,  it  was  evident ;  especially 
Fritz  and  the  elder  boys.  They  said  nothing  ;  b,ut  on  the 
mornin/,  of  the  fete,  a  beautiful  new  dress,  the  oounterpar* 
vf  my  cousins',  was  laid  at  my  bedside  before  I  awcke. 


528  THE  8CE6NBER0-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

I  put  it  on  with  some  pleasure,  but,  when  I  looked  t 
myself  in  the  glass — it  was  very  unreasonable — I  coulj 
not  bear  it.  It  seemed  a  reproach  on  my  mother,  and  on 
my  humble  life  and  my  dear,  poor  home  at  Eisleben,  and  I 
sat  down  and  cried  bitterly,  until  a  gentle  knock  at  the 
door  aroiased  me ;  and  Aunt  Else  came  in,  and  found  me 
sitting  with  tears  on  my  face  and  on  the  beautiful  new 
dress,  exceedingly  ashamed  of  myself. 

"  Don't  you  like  it,  my  child  ?  It  was  Fritz's  thought. 
I  was  afraid  you  might  not  be  pleased." 

"  My  mother  thought  the  old  one  good  enough,"  I  said 
in  a  very  faltering  tone.  "  It  was  good  enough  for  my 
home.     I  had  better  go  home  again." 

Aunt  Else  was  carefully  wiping  away  the  tears  from  my 
dress,  but  at  these  words  she  began  to  cry  herself,  and 
drew  me  to  her  heart,  and  said  it  was  exactly  what  she 
should  have  felt  in  her  young  days  at  Eisenach,  but  that  I 
must  just  wear  the  new  dress  to  the  fete,  and  then  I  need 
never  wear  it  again  unless  I  liked ;  and  that  I  was  right  in 
thinking  nothing  half  so  good  as  my  mother,  and  all  she 
did,  because  nothing  ever  was,  or  would  be,  she  was  sure. 

So  we  cried  together,  and  were  comforted;  and  I  wore 
the  green  taffetas  to  the  fair. 

But  when  I  came  home  again  to  Eisleben,  I  felt  more 
ashamed  of  myself  than  of  the  taffetas  dress  or  of  the  flat- 
teung  lad'cs  at  the  Castle.  Che  dear,  precious  old  home, 
in  spite  of  all  I  could  persuade  myself  to  the  contrary,  did 
ook  small  and  poor,  and  the  furniture  worn  and  old.  And 
yet  I  could  see  there  new  traces  of  care  and  welcome 
ev(u-ywhere — fresh  rushes  on  the  floors  ;  a  plain  new  quilt 
on  my  little  bed,  made,  I  knew,  by  my  mother's  hands. 

She  knew  very  soon  that  I  was  feeling  troubled  about 
Bomothing,  and  soon  she  knew  it  all,  as  I  told  her  my  bitter 
experiences  of  life 

"  Yo  ir  father  '  only  a  schoolmaster  !'  "  she  said,  "  and 


SVA'S  AND  AGNES' 8  STOUT.  529 

you  yourself  presented  with  a  new  taffetas  di\iir. !  Are 
tliese  all  your  grievances,  little  Agnes  ?" 

"All,  mother,"  I  fxclaimed;  "and  only T 

"Is  your  father  anything  else  but  a  schoolmaster, 
Agnos  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  that  for  an  instant,  mother,"  1 
6 lid  ;  "  you  could  not  think  it.  I  think  it  is  much  noblei 
to  teach  children  than  to  hunt  foxes,  and  buy  and  cell  bale& 
of  silk  and  wool.  But  the  world  seems  to  me  exceedingly 
hollow  and  crocked ;  and  I  never  wish  to  see  any  more  of 
it.    Oh,  mother,  do  you  think  it  was  all  nonsense  in  me  ?" 

"  I  think,  m.y  child,  you  have  had  an  encoimter  with  the 
world,  the  f.osh,  and  the  devil ;  and  I  think  they  are  no 
contemptible  enemies.  And  I  think  you  have  not  left 
them  behind." 

"  But  is  not  our  father's  calling  nobler  chan  any  one's, 
and  our  home  the  nicest  in  the  world  ?'  I  said  ;  "  and 
Elisleben  really  as  be'autiful  in  its  way  as  the  Thuringian 
forest,  and  as  wise  as  Wittenberg  ?" 

"  All  callings  may  be  noble,"  she  said  ;  "  and  the  one 
God  calls  us  to  is  the  noblest  for  us.  liisleben  is  not,  I 
think,  as  beautiful  as  the  old  forest-coveied  hills  at  Gers- 
dorf ;  nor  Luther's  birth-place  as  great  as  his  dwelliug- 
place,  where  he  preaches  and  teaches,  and  sheds  around 
irnn  the  influence  of  his  holy  daily  life.  Other  homes  may 
be  as  good  as  yours,  dear  child,  though  none  can  be  so  to 

y^ou." 

And  so  I  learned  that  what  makes  any  calling  noble  is 
'\\»  being  commanded  by  God,  and  what  makes  anything 
good  is  its  being  given  by  God  ;  and  that  honest  content- 
mont  consists  not  in  persuading  ourselves  that  our  things 
are  the  very  best  in  the  world,  but  in  believing  they  a  e 
the  best  for  us,  and  giving  God  thanks  for  tlicni. 

That  was  the  way  I  began  to  learn  to  know  the  world. 
And  also  in  that  way  I  began  better  to  uodorstand  th« 


530 


THE  SCnoNBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Catechism,  especially  the  part  about  the  Lord's  Prater, 
and  that  oq  the  second  article  of  the  Creed,  where  we 
iearu  of  Him  who  suffered  for  our  sins  and  redeemed  na 
with  flis  holy  precious  blood. 

1  have  just  returned  from  my  second  visit  to  TVittenberg, 
which  was  much  happier  than  my  first — indeed,  exceed- 
ingly happy. 

The  great  delight  of  my  visit,  however,  has  been  seeing 
and  hearing  Dr.  Luther.  Ilis  little  daughter,  Magdalene, 
thiee  years  younger  than  I  am,  had  died  not  long  before, 
but  that  seemed  only  to  make  Dr.  Luther  kinder  than  ever 
to  all  young  maidens-  -"  the  poor  maidenkind  "  as  he  calla 
them. 

His  sermons  seemed  to  me  like  a  father  talking  to  hia 
children  ;  and  Aunt  Else  says  he  repeats  the  Catechism 
often  himself  "  to  God  "  to  cheer  his  heart  and  strengthen 
himself — the  great  1 '/.  Martin  Luther  ! 

I  had  heard  so  mi'ch  of  him,  and  always  thought  of  him 
IS  the  man  nearest  God  on  earth,  great  with  a  majesty 
surpassing  infinitely  that  of  the  Elector  or  the  Emperor. 
And  now  it  was  a  great  delight  to  see  him  in  his  home,  in 
the  dark  wainscoted  room  lookijig  on  his  garden,  and  to 
see  him  raise  his  head  from  his  writing  and  smile  kindly  at 
us  as  he  sat  at  the  gr^r^at  table  in  the  broad  window,  with 
Mistress  Luther  sewing  on  a  lower  seat  beside  him,  and 
little  Margaretha  Luthev,  the  youngest  child,  quietly  play 
ing  beside  them,  contented  with  a  look  now  and  then  from 
her  father. 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  Magdalene  Luther.  She  mu&t 
iiave  been  such  a  good  and  loving  child.  But  that  will  bo 
hereafter  in  heaven ! 

I  suppose  my  feeling  for  Dr.  Luther  is  difTei'ent  from 
that  of  iny  mother  and  father.  They  knew  him  during  tha 
conflict.  We  only  know  him  as  the  conqueror,  with  th« 
pahn,  as  it  wei'O,  already  in  liis  hand. 


THEKLA'S  STOUT.  531 

But  ray  great  friend  at  Witteiiberg  is  Aunt  Thekla.  1 
think,  on  tlie  M'hole,  there  is  no  one  I  should  more  wish  to 
t»e  like.  She  understands  one  in  that  strange  way  withou.! 
telling,  like  my  mother.  I  think  it  is  because  she  has  felt 
Ko  much.  Aunt  Else  told  me  of  the  terrible  sorrow  she 
^ad  when  she  was  young. 

Our  dear  mother  and  father  also  had  their  great  sorrows, 
although  they  came  to  the  end  of  their  sorrow  in  this  life, 
and  Aunt  Thekla  will  only  come  to  the  end  of  hers  in  the 
other  world.  But  it  seems  to  have  consecrated  'Jiem  all,  I 
think,  in  some  peculiar  way.  They  all,  and  Dr.  Luther 
also,  make  me  think  of  the  people  who,  they  say,  have  the 
gift,  by  striking  on  the  ground,  of  discovering  where  the 
hidden  springs  lie  that  others  may  know  where  to  dig 
for  the  wells.  Can  sorrow  only  confer  this  gift  of  know- 
ing where  to  find  the  hidden  springs  in  the  heart  ?  If  so 
it  must  be  worth  while  to  suffer.  Only  there  are  just  om 
or  two  sorrows  which  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  bear 

But,  as  our  mother  says,  our  Saviour  has  all  the  gifts  if 
his  hands ;  and  "  the  greatest  gift "  of  all  (in  whose  hand? 
the  roughest  tools  can  do  the  finest  work)  "  is  love .'"'  And 
that  is  just  the  gift  any  one  of  us  may  have  without  limit. 

THEKi^A'S   STORY. 

WiTTENBEUG,  2Zd  January,  1546. 

DR.  LUTHER  has  left  Wittenberg  to-day  for  Eislt 
ben,  his  birtli-jjlace,  to  settle  a  dispute  between  the 
Counts  of  Mansfeld  concernmg  certain  rights  of  church 
patronage. 

iib  left  m  good  spirits,  intending  to  return  in  a  few  days. 
His  three  sons,  John,  Martin,  and  Paul,  went  with  liim, 
Miotress  Luther  is  anxious  and  depressed  about  his  de- 
parture, but  wo  trust  without  especial  cause,  althougb  tia 
has  often  of  late  been  weak  and  suffering. 


J32  THE  SCnONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

Tlie  dullness  and  silence  which  to  me  always  seem  U 
settle  down  on  Wittenburg  in  h/.s  absence  are  increased 
uow  doubtless  by  this  wintry  weather,  and  the  rains  ansl 
Btorms  which  have  been  swelling  the  rivers  to  floods.  lie 
Is,  indeed,  the  true  father  and  king  of  our  little  world : 
and  when  he  is  with  us  all  Germany  and  the  world  seem 
nearer  us  through  his  wide-seeing  mind  and  his  lieart 
that  thrills  to  every  touch  of  want  or  sorrow  throughout 
the  world. 

Februai'y. 

|\  yriSTRESS  LUTHER  has  told  me  to-day  that  Dr. 

L  T  X  Luther  said  before  he  left  he  could  "  lie  down  on 
his  deathbed  with  joy  if  he  could  first  see  his  dear  Lords 
of  Mansfeld  reconciled,"  She  says  also  he  has  just  con- 
cluded the  Commentary  on  Genesis,  on  which  he  has  been 
working  these  ten  years,  with  these  w^ords — 

'"'•  I  am  weak  and  can  do  no  more.  Pray  Ood  he  may  grant 
ne  u  peaceful  and  hapjnj  deathP 

She  thinks  his  mind  has  been  dwelling  of  late  more  than 
usual,  even  with  him,  on  death,  and  fears  he  feels  some  in- 
ward premonition  or  presentiment  of  a  speedy  departure. 
So  fong  he  has  spoken  of  death  as  a  thing  to  be  desired ! 
Yet  it  always  makes  our  heart  ache  to  hear  him  do  so. 
Of  the  Advent  as  the  end  of  all  evil  and  the  beginning  of 
the  Kingdom,  we  can  well  bear  to  hear  him  speak,  but  not 
of  that  which,  if  the  end  of  all  evil  to  him,  would  seem 
like  the  beginning  of  all  sorro^vs  to  us. 

Now,  however,  Mistress  Luther  is  somewhat  comforted 
by  his  letters,  which  are  more  cheerful  than  those  she  re- 
ceived during  his  absence  last  year,  when  he  counselled 
her  to  sell  all  their  Wittenberg  property,  and  take  refuge 
in  her  estate  at  Zollsdorf,  that  he  might  know  her  safe  out 
of  Wittenberg — that  "  haunt  of  selfishness  ami  luxury  " — 
before  he  died. 


THEKLA'S  STOUT. 


S33 


His  first  letter  since  leaving  Wittenberg  this  time  is  ad 
dressed — 

'  To  my  kind  and  dear  Kiilhe  Lutberm,  at  Wittenberg^ 
gface  and  peace  m  the  Lord, 

"Dear  Kiithe, — To-day,  at  half-past  eight  o'clock,  we 
reached  Halle,  but  have  not  yet  arrived  at  Eisleben ;  for  a 
great  Anabaptist  encomitered  us  with  water-floods  ai.'3 
great  blocks  of  ice,  which  covered  the  land,  and  threat- 
ened to  baptize  us  all  again.  Neither  could  we  return,  on 
account  of  the  Mulda.  Therefoi-e  we  remain  tranquilly 
here  at  Halle,  between  the  two  streams.  Not  that  we 
thirst  for  water  to  drink,  but  console  ourselves  with  goo'J 
Torgau  beer  and  Rhine  wine,  in  case  the  Saala  should 
break  out  into  a  rage  again.  For  we  and  our  servants,  and 
the  ferrymen,  would  not  tempt  God  by  venturing  on  the 
water ;  for  the  devil  is  furious  against  us,  and  d\vells  in 
the  water-floods ;  and  it  is  better  to  escape  him  than  to 
complain  of  him,  nor  is  it  necessary  that  we  should  become 
the  jest  of  the  Pope  and  his  hosts.  I  could  not  have  be- 
lieved that  the  Saala  could  have  made  such  a  brewing, 
bursting  over  the  causeway  and  all.  Now  no  more ;  but 
pray  for  us  and  the  pious.  I  hold,  hadst  thou  been  here, 
thou  hadst  counselled  us  to  do  i)recisely  what  we  have 
done.  So  for  once  we  should  liave  taken  thy  advice. 
Herewith  I  commend  you  to  God.  Amen.  At  Halle,  on 
the  day  of  the  conversion  of  St.  Paul. 

"Martinus  LuinKE." 

Four  other  letters  she  has  received,  one  dated  on  the  2d 
of  February,  addressed — 

*'To  my  heartily  beloved  consort  Kalheriu  LullitMin,  the 
Zollsdorfin  doctoress,  proprietress  of  tlie  Saiimarkt,  and 
wiiatever  else  nhe  may  be,  grace  and  i)cace  in  Clirist;  and 
ray  old  poor  (and,  as  I  know,  i^owerlcss)  love  to  thee  I 


534 


THE  SCHOmEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


"  Dear  Kathe, — I  became  very  weak  on  the  road  3los« 
to  Eislebeu,  for  my  sins;  although,  wert  thou  there,  tlvou 
wouldst  have  said  it  was  for  the  sins  of  the  Jews.  P'oi 
near  Eisleben  we  passed  through  a  village  where  many 
Jew  s  reside,  and  it  is  true,  as  I  came  through  it,  a  cold 
•.'ind  came  through  my  Baret  (doctor's  hat),  and  my  head, 
IS  if  it  would  turn  my  brain  to  i{  e. 

"  Thy  sons  left  Mansfeld  yesterday,  because  Hans  von 
Tene  so  humbly  entreated  them  to  accompany  him.  I 
know  not  what  they  do.  If  it  were  cold,  they  might  help 
me  freeze  here.  Since,  however,  it  is  warm  again,  they 
may  do  or  suffer  anything  else  they  like.  Herewith  I 
commend  you  and  all  the  house  to  God,  and  greet  all  our 
friends.     Vigilia  purificationis." 

And  again — 

Eisleben. 

"To  the  deeply  learned  lady  Katharin  Luther,  my 
gi'acious  consort,  at  Wittenberg,  grace  and  peace. 

"  Dear  Kjithe, — We  sit  here  and  suffer  ourselves  to  be 
tortured,  and  would  gladly  be  away ;  but  that  cannot  be, 
I  think,  for  a  week.  Thou  mayest  say  to  Master  Philip 
that  he  may  correct  his  exposition ;  for  he  has  not  yet 
rightly  understood  why  the  Lord  called  riches  thorns. 
Here  is  the  school  in  which  to  learn  that "  (/.  e.,  the  Mans- 
feld controversy  about  property).  "But  it  dawns  on  me 
that  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  thorns  are  always  menaced 
with  fire ;  therefore,  I  have  all  the  more  patience,  hoping, 
with  God's  help,  to  bring  some  good  out  of  it  all.  It 
seems  to  me  the  devil  laughs  at  us ;  but  God  laughs  h\m 
to  scorn !  Amen.  Pray  for  us.  Tlie  niessenger  hastes. 
On  St.  Dorothea's  day. 

"M.  L.  (thy  old  lovei.)" 

Dr.  Luther  seems  tc  be  enjoying  himself  in  his  own 


•      THEKLA\S  STOUT.  535 

riniple  hearty  way,  at  his  old  home.     ISTobles,  and  buigh- 
ers,  and  wives,  give  him  the  most  friendly  welcome. 

The  third  letter  Mistress  Luther  has  received  is  full  ol 
j.layful,  tender  answers  to  her  anxieties  about  him. 

"To  my  dear  consort  Kathariu  Lutherin,  doctoress  and 
eelPtornientor  at  Wittenberg,  my  gracious  lady,  grace  and 
peace  in  the  Lord,  Read  thou,  dear  Kiithe,  the  Gospel  of 
John,  and  the  smaller  Catechism,  and  then  thou  wilt  say 
at  once,  'All  that  is  in  the  book  is  said  of  me.'  For  thou 
must  needs  take  the  cares  of  thy  God  upon  thee,  as  if  he 
were  not  almighty,  and  could  not  create  ten  Doctor  Mar- 
tins, if  the  old  Doctor  Martin  were  drowned  in  the  Saala. 
Leave  me  in  peace  with  thy  cares !  I  have  a  better  guar- 
dian than  thou  and  all  the  angels.  It  is  he  who  lay  in  the 
manger,  and  was  fondled  on  a  maiden's  breast ;  but  who 
sittcth  also  now  on  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Almighty 
F'atbor.    Therefore  be  at  peace." 

And  again — 

"  To  the  saintly,  anxious  lady,  Katharin  Lutherin,  Doo- 
or'oi  Zulsdorferin  at  Wittenberg,  my  gracious  dear  wife, 
^race  and  peace  in  Christ.  Most  saintly  lady  Doctoress, — 
We  thank  your  ladyship  kindly  for  your  great  anxiety  and 
care  for  us  whic\  prevented  your  sleeping;  for  since  the 
time  that  you  had  this  care  for  us,  a  fire  nearly  consumed 
us  in  our  inn,  close  to  my  chamber  door ;  and  yesterday 
(doubtless  by  the  power  of  your  care),  a  stone  almost  fell 
on  our  head,  and  crushed  us  as  in  a  mouse-trap.  For  in 
our  private  chamber  during  more  than  two  days,  lime  and 
mortar  crashed  above  us,  until  we  sent  for  workmen,  who 
only  touched  the  stone  Avith  two  fingers,  when  it  full,  as 
large  as  a  large  pillow  two  hand-breadths  wide.  For  all 
this  we  should  have  to  thank  your  anxiety  ;  had  not  the 
dear  holy  angels  been  guarding  us  also !     I  begin  to  b€ 


5^6  THE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

anxious  that  if  your  anxieties  do  not  cease,  at  last  tbi 
earth  may  swallow  us  up,  and  all  the  elements  pursue  iia 
Dost  thou  indeed  teach  the  Catechism  and  the  Creed! 
Do  thou  then  pray,  and  leave  God  to  care,  as  it  is  promised. 
Cast  thy  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain  thee.' 

"  We  would  now  gladly  be  free  and  journey  homewards*, 
if  God  willed  it  so.  Amen.  Amen.  Amen.  On  Scholas- 
tica's  day.     The  willing  servant  of  your  holiness, 

"Martin  Luther." 

February  17. 

GOOD  news  for  us  all  at  Wittenberg !     Mistress  Lu- 
ther has  received  a  letter  from  the  Doctor,  dated 
the  14th  February,  announcing  his  speedy  return. 

"  To  my  kind,  dear  wife,  Katharine  Lutherin  von  Bora, 
at  Wittenberg, — 

"  Grace  and  peace  in  the  Lord,  dear  Kiithe !  We  hope 
this  v>'eek  to  come  home  again,  if  God  will.  God  haa 
shown  us  great  grace ;  for  the  lords  have  arranged  all 
through  their  referees,  except  two  or  three  articles — one 
of  which  is  that  Count  Gebhard  and  Count  Albrecht 
should  again  become  brothers,  which  I  undertake  to-day, 
and  will  invite  them  to  be  my  guests,  that  they  may  speak 
to  each  other,  for  hitherto  they  have  been  dumb,  and  have 
embitti  red  one  another  with  severe  letters. 

"  The  young  men  are  all  in  the  best  spirits,  make  excur- 
sions with  fools'  bells  on  sledges — the  young  ladies  also — 
and  amuse  themselves  together ;  and  among  them  also 
Ccunt  Gebhard's  son.  So  we  must  imderstand  God  is 
Bxauditor  preciim. 

"  I  send  to  thee  some  game  which  the  Countess  Albrecht 
has  presented  to  me.  She  rejoices  with  all  her  heart  &t 
the  peace.  Thy  sons  are  still  at  Mansfeld  Jacob  Luther 
will  take  good  car«  of  them.     We  have  food  and  drink 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


53.' 


here  like  noblemen,  and  we  are  waited  on  well — too  well, 
indeed — so  tliat  we  might  forget  yon  at  Wittenberg,  ] 
have  no  ailments. 

"  This  thou  canst  show  to  Master  Philip,  to  Doctor  f  o 
mer,  and  to  Doctor  Crenzer.  The  report  has  reached  thia 
place  that  Doctor  Martin  has  been  snatched  away,  as  they 
say  at  Magdeburg  and  at  Leipzig.  Such  fictions  these 
countrymen  compose,  who  see  as  far  as  their  noses.  Some 
say  the  emperor  is  thirty  miles  from  this,  at  Soest,  in 
Westphalia ;  some  that  the  Frenchman  is  captive,  and  also 
the  Landgrave.  But  let  ws  sing  and  say,  we  will  wait 
what  God  the  Lord  will  do. — Eisleben,  on  the  Sunday 
Valentini.  M.  Luther,  D." 

So  the  work  of  peace-making  is  done,  and  Dr.  Luther  ia 
to  return  to  us  this  week — long,  we  trust,  to  enjoy  among 
us  the  peace-maker's  beatitude. 

FRITZ'S    STORY. 

Eisleben,  154G. 

IT  has  been  quite  a  festival  day  at  Eisleben.  The  child 
who,  sixty-three  years  since,  was  born  here  to  John 
Luther  the  miner,  returns  to-day  the  greatest  man  in  the 
empire,  to  arbitrate  in  a  family  dispute  of  the  Counts  of 
Man  sf eld. 

As  Eva  and  I  watched  him  enter  the  town  to-day  from 
the  door  of  our  humble  happy  home,  she  said, — 

"  He  that  is  greatest  among  you  shall  be  as  he  that  dotb 
serve." 

These  ten  last  years  of  service  have,  however,  aged  hire, 
much ! 

I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that  they  had.     There 
are  traces  of  suffering  on  the  expressive  face,  and  there  ii 
a  touch  of  feebleness  in  the  form  and  step. 
23* 


538  THE  SCnONBERG-COyTA  FAMILY. 

"  HcM  is  it,"  T  said  to  Eva,  "  that  Else  or  ThcsJa  did 
not  tell  us  of  this?     Pie  is  certainly  much  feebler.^^ 

"They  are  always  with  him,"  she  said,  "and  wo  T-jver 
see  what  Time  is  doing,  love ;  hut  only  what  he  has 
done." 

Her  words  made  me  thoughtful.     Could  it  be  that  sivcb 
changes  were  passing  on  us  also,  and  that  we  were  failin^ 
to  observe  them  ? 

When  Dr.  Luther  and  the  throng  had  passed,  we  re- 
turned into  the  house,  and  Eva  resumed  her  knitting,  while 
1  recommenced  the  study  of  my  sermon ;  but  secretly  1 
raised  my  eyes  from  my  books  and  surveyed  her.  If  time 
had  indeed  thus  been  changing  that  beloved  form,  it  was 
better  I  should  know  it,  to  treasure  more  the  precious  days 
be  was  so  treacherously  stealing. 

Yet  scarcely,  with  the  severest  scrutiny,  could  I  detect 
the  trace  of  age  or  suffering  on  her  face  or  form.  The 
calm  brow  was  as  white  and  calm  as  ever.  The  golden 
hair,  smoothly  braided  under  her  white  matronly  cap,  was 
as  free  from  grey  as  even  our  Agnes's,  who  was  flitting  in 
and  out  of  the  winter  sunshine,  busy  with  household  work 
in  the  next  room.  There  was  a  roundness  on  the  cheek, 
although,  perhaps,  its  curve  was  a  little  changed;  and 
when  she  looked  np  and  met  my  eyes,  was  there  not  the 
very  same  happy,  childlike  smile  as  ev©r,  that  seemed  to 
overflow  from  a  Avorld  of  simshine  within? 

"No!"  I  said:  "Eva,  thank  God,  I  have  not  deluded 
myself!     Time  has  not  stolen  a  march  on  you  yet." 

"Think  how  I  have  been  shielded,  Fritz,"  she  said. 
"  Wliat  a  sunny  and  sheltered  life  mine  has  been,  nevei 
encoxmtering  any  storm  except  under  the  shelter  of  suci 
a  home  and  such  love.  But  Dr.  Luther  has  been  so  long 
the  one  foremost  and  highest,  on  whose  breast  the  firsf 
force  of  every  storm  has  burst." 

Just  then  our  Heinz  came  in 


FRITZ'S  STOUT.  -3^ 

"Your  father  s  trying  to  prove  I  am  not  gvow'm^  oW,*' 
Bbe  said. 

"  Wlio  said  such  a  thing  of  our  mother  ?"  asked  Hoint, 
turning  fiercely  to  Agnes. 

"  iSTo  one,"'  I  said ;  "  but  it  startled  me  to  see  the  chan^;* 
[n  Dr.  Luther,  and  I  began  to  fear  what  changes  raigh 
have  been  going  on  unobserved  in  our  own  home." 

"  Is  Dr.  Luther  much  changed  ?"  said  Heinz.  "  I  thinlj 
I  never  saw  a  nobler  face,  so  resolute  and  true,  and  with 
Buch  a  keen  glance  in  his  dark  eyes.  He  might  have  been 
one  of  the  Emperor's  greatest  generals, — he  looks  so  like  a 
veteran  " 

"  Is  he  not  a  veteran,  Heinz  ?"  said  Eva.  "  Has  he  not 
fought  all  our  battles  for  us  for  years?  What  do  you 
think  of  him,  Agnes  ?" 

"  I  remember  best  the  look  he  gave  my  father  and  you," 
she  said.  "  His  face  looked  so  full  of  kindness ;  I  thought 
how  happy  he  mast  make  liis  home." 

That  evening  was  naturally  a  time,  with  Eva  and  me, 
for  going  over  the  past.  And  how  much  of  it  is  linked 
with  Dr.  Luther !  That  our  dear  home  exists  at  all  is, 
through  God,  his  work.  And  more  even  than  that :  the 
freedom  and  peace  of  our  hearts  came  to  us  chiefly  at  first 
through  him.  All  the  past  came  back  to  me  wlien  I  saw 
his  face  again  ;  as  if  suddenly  flashed  on  me  from  a  mirror. 
The  days  when  he  sang  before  Aunt  Ursula  Cotta's  door 
at  Eisennch — when  the  voice  which  has  since  stirred  all 
C/'hristcndom  to  its  depths  sang  carols  for  a  piece  of  bread. 
Then  the  gradual  passing  away  of  the  outward  trials  of 
poverty,  through  his  fatiier'y  prosperity  and  liberality — 
the  brilliant  prospects  opening  before  him  at  the  university 
— his  sudden,  yet  deliberate  closing  of  all  those  earthly 
Bchemes — the  descent  into  the  dark  and  bitter  waters, 
wVere  he  fought  the  fight  for  his  age,  and,  all  but  sinking.^ 
found  tho  Hand  that  saved  him,  and  came  to  the  shore 


540 


THE  SCnONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Bgaiii  on  the  riglit  side;  and  not  alone,  but  upheld  ere*, 
more  by  the  hand  that  rescued  him,  and  which  he  haa 
made  known  to  the  hearts  of  thousands. 

Then  I  seemed  to  see  him  stand  before  the  Emperor  at 
Worms,  in  that  da}  when  men  did  not  know  whether  to 
wonder  most  at  his  gentleness  or  his  daring — in  that  hour 
which  men  thought  was  his  hour  of  conflict  but  which  was 
in  truth  his  hour  of  triumph,  after  the  real  battle  had  been 
fought  and  the  real  victory  won. 

And  now  twenty  years  more  had  passed  away ;  the  Bible 
has  been  translated  by  him  into  German,  and  is  speaking 
in  countless  homes ;  homes  hallowed  (and,  in  many  in- 
stances, created)  by  his  teaching. 

"  What  then,"  said  Eva,  "  has  been  gained  by  his  teach- 
mg  and  his  work  ?" 

"  The  yoke  of  tradition,  and  of  the  papacy,  is  broken," 
1  said.  "  The  Gospel  is  preached  in  England,  and,  with 
more  or  less  result,  throughout  Germany.  In  Denmark, 
an  evangelical  pastor  has  consecrated  King  Christian  III. 
In  the  low  coimtries,  and  elsewhere,  men  and  women  have 
been  martyred,  as  in  the  primitive  ages,  for  the  faith.  In 
France  and  in  Switzerland  evangelical  truth  has  been  em- 
braced by  tens  of  thousands,  although  not  in  Dr.  Luther's 
Corm,  nor  only  from  his  lips." 

"  These  are  great  results,"  she  replied ;  "  but  they  are 
external — at  least,  we  can  only  see  the  outside  of  them. 
What  fruit  is  there  in  this  li'tle  world,  around  us  at  Eisle- 
ben,  of  whose  heart  we  know  something  V 

"  The  golden  age  is,  indeed,  not  come,"  I  said,  "  or  the 
Counts  of  Mansfeld  would  not  be  quarrelling  about  church 
patronage,  and  needing  Dr.  Luther  as  a  peacemaker.  Nor 
would  Dr.  Luther  need  so  continually  to  warn  the  rich, 
against  avarice,  and  to  denounce  the  selfishness  which  spent 
thousands  of  florins  to  buy  exemption  from  future  punisb 
m  jnt,  but  grudges  a  few  kreuzers  to  spread  the  glad  tid 


FRITZ'S  STOUT. 


54« 


mgs  of  the  grace  of  God.  If  covetousness  is  idolatry,  it 
is  too  plain  that  the  Reformation  has,  with  many,  only 
changed  the  idol." 

"  Yet,"  replied  Eva,  "  it  is  certainly  something  to  have 
the  idol  removed  from  the  Church  to  the  market,  to  ha^•e 
it  called  by  a  despised  instead  of  by  a  hallowed  name,  and 
disguised  in  any  rather  than  in  sacred  vestments." 

Thus  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Reformation 
bad  done  for  us  what  sunrise  does.  It  had  wakened  life, 
and  ripened  real  fruits  of  heaven  in  many  places,  and  it 
had  revealed  evil  and  noisome  things  in  their  true  forms. 
The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  remain  unchanged  ;  but 
it  is  much  to  have  learned  that  the  world  is  not  a  certain 
definite  region  outside  the  cloister,  but  an  atmosphere  to 
be  guarded  against  as  around  us  everywhere ;  that  the 
flesh  is  not  the  love  of  kindred  or  of  natui-e,  but  of  self  in 
these,  and  that  the  devil's  most  fiery  dart  is  distrust  of  God. 
For  us  personally,  and  ours,  how  infinitely  much  Dr.  Lu- 
ther has  done ;  and  if  for  us  and  ours,  how  much  for  count- 
less other  hearts  and  homes  unknown  to  us ! 

Monday,  February  15,  15^.- 

DR.  LUTHER  administered  the  communion  yester- 
day, and  preached.  It  has  been  a  great  help  to 
have  him  going  in  and  out  among  us.  Four  times  lie  has 
preached ;  it  seems  to  us,  with  as  much  point  and  fervour 
as  ever.  To-day,  however,  there  was  a  deep  solemnity 
about  his  words.  His  text  was  in  Matt,  xi.,  "Fear  not 
therefore ;  for  there  is  notliing  covered  that  shall  not  be 
revealed,  and  hid  that  shall  not  be  known.  What  I  tell 
you  in  darkness,  that  speak  ye  in  light ;  and  what  ye  hear 
in  the  ear,  that  preach  ye  on  the  house-tops.  And  fear  not 
them  which  kill  the  body,  but  are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul ; 
but  rather  fear  him  whi^h  is  able  to  destroy  both  soul  and 
body  in  hell.    Are  not  two  Bparrows  sold  for  a  farthing' 


542 


THE  SCHONBEBO-COTTA  FAMT  .t 


And  one  of  them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without  }'out 
Father.  But  the  ^  ery  hairs  of  your  head  are  all  number 
ed."  He  must  have  felt  feebler  than  he  seemed,  for  he 
closed  with  the  words — 

"  This,  and  much  more,  may  be  said  from  the  passage 
hut  I  am  too  weak,  and  here  ice  tc'dl  close.'''' 

Eva  seemed  very  grave  all  the  rest  of  the  day  ;  and 
vehen  I  returned  from  the  school  on  this  morning,  she  met 
me  with  an  anxious  face  at  the  door,  and  said — 

"  Is  the  Doctor  better  ?" 

"  I  have  not  heard  that  he  is  ill,"  I  said.  "  lie  was  en. 
gaged  with  the  arbitration  again  to-day." 

"  I  cannot  get  those  words  of  his  out  of  ^ly  head,"  she 
said ;  "  they  haunt  me — '  Here  we  lo'dl  close.''  I  cannot  help 
thinking  what  it  would  be  never  to  hear  that  faithful  voice 
again." 

"  You  are  depressed,  my  love,"  I  said,  "  at  the  thought 
of  Dr.  Luther's  leaving  us  this  week.  But  by-and-by  we 
will  stay  some  little  time  at  Wittenberg,  and  hear  hira 
again  there." 

"  If  God  will !"  she  said  gravely,  "  What  God  has  given 
us,  through  him,  can  never  be  taken  away." 

I  have  inquired  again  about  him,  however,  frequently 
to-day,  but  there  seems  no  cause  for  anxiety.  He  retired 
from  the  Great  Hall  where  the  conferences  and  the  meals 
take  place,  at  eight  o'clock ;  and  this  evening,  as  often  be- 
fore during  his  visit.  Dr.  Jonas  overheard  him  praying 
aloud  at  the  window  of  his  chamber. 

Thursday,  18th  Fehruary. 

THE  worst — the  very  worst — has  come  to  pass !    The 
faithful  voice  is,  indeed,  \Qenced  to  us  on  earth  for 
ever. 

Here  where  the  life  began  it  tjas  closed.  He  who,  6txty 
three  years  ago,  lay  here  a  litiU  helpless  babe,  lies  hera 


FRITZ'S  STORY. 


S43 


agaio  a  lifeless  corpse.  Yet  it  is  not  with  sixty-three  yeart 
ago,  but  with  three  days  since  that  we  feel  the  bitter  con- 
trast.  Three  days  ago  he  was  among  us  the  counsellor, 
tlie  teacher,  the  messenger  of  God,  and  now  that  heart, 
open,  tender  to  sympathize  with  sorrows,  and  so  strong  to 
bear  a  nation's  burden,  has  ceased  to  beat. 

Yesterday  it  was  observed  that  he  was  feeble  and  aiUng, 
The  Princes  of  Anhalt  and  the  Count  Albert  of  Mansfeld, 
with  Dr.  Jonas  and  his  other  friends,  entreated  him  to  rest 
in  his  own  room  during  the  morning.  He  was  not  easily 
persuaded  to  spare  himself,  and  probably  would  not  have 
yielded  then,  had  he  not  felt  that  the  work  of  reconcilia- 
tion was  accomplished,  in  all  save  a  few  supplementary 
details.  Much  of  the  forenoon,  therefore,  he  reposed  on  a 
leathern  couch  in  his  room,  occasionally  rising,  with  the 
restlessness  of  illness,  and  pacing  the  room,  and  standing 
in  the  window  prayuig,  so  that  Dr.  Jonas  and  Coelius,  who 
were  in  another  part  of  the  room,  could  hear  him.  He 
dined,  however,  at  noon,  in  the  Great  Hall,  with  those  as- 
sembled there.  At  dinner  he  said  to  some  near  him,  "  If 
I  can,  indeed,  reconcile  the  rulers  of  my  birth-place  with 
each  other,  and  then,  with  God's  permission,  accomplish 
the  journey  back  to  Wittenberg,  I  would  go  home  and  lay 
myself  down  to  sleep  in  my  grave,  and  let  the  worms  de- 
vour my  body." 

He  was  not  one  weakly  to  sigh  for  sleep  before  night ; 
and  we  now  know  too  well  from  how  deep  a  sense  of 
bodily  wearmess  and  weakness  that  wish  sprang.  Ten. 
gion  of  heart  and  mind,  and  incessant  work, — the  toil  of  a 
daily  mechanical  labourer,  with  the  keen,  wearying  thought 
of  the  highest  intellectual  energy, — working  as  much  ab 
any  drudging  slave,  and  as  intensely  a8  if  all  he  did  waa 
his  delight, — at  sixty-three  the  strong,  peasant  frame  wan 
worn  out  as  most  men's  are  at  eighty,  and  he  longed  for  rest 

In  tlie  afw.iioon  he  complained  of  pai;jful  |[^res8ure  00 


5.^4  ^'^^  SCHONBEItG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

the  Lreast,  and  requested  that  it  might  be  rubbed  with 
warm  cloths.  This  relieved  him  a  little  ;  aud  he  went  tc 
*upper  again  with  his  friends  in  the  Great  Hall.  At  table 
he  spoke  much  of  eternity,  and  said  he  believed  his  own 
death  was  near  ;  yet  his  conversation  was  not  only  cheer- 
ful, but  at  times  gay,  although  it  related  chiefly  to  the 
future  world.  One  near  him  asked  whether  departed 
saints  would  recognise  each  other  in  heaven.  He  said, 
Yes,  he  thought  they  would. 

When  he  left  the  supper-table  he  went  to  his  room. 

In  the  night, — last  night, — his  two  sons,  Paul  and  Mar- 
tin, thirteen  and  fourteen  years  of  age,  sat  up  to  watch 
wdth  him,  with  Justus  Jonas,  whose  joys  and  sorrows  he 
had  shared  through  so  many  years.  Ccelius  and  Aurifaber 
also  were  with  him.  The  pain  in  the  breast  returned,  and 
again  they  tried  rubbing  him  with  hot  cloths.  Count  Al- 
bert came,  and  the  Countess,  with  two  physicians,  and 
brought  him  some  shavings  from  the  tusk  of  a  sea-unicorn, 
deemed  a  sovereign  remedy.  He  took  it,  and  slept  till 
ten.  Then  he  awoke,  and  attempted  once  more  to  pace 
the  room  a  little  ;  but  he  could  not,  and  returned  to  bed. 
Then  he  slept  again  till  one.  During  those  two  or  three 
hours  of  sleep,  his  host  Albrecht,  with  his  wife,  Ambrose, 
JoLas,  and  Luther's  sou,  watched  noiselessly  beside  him, 
quietly  keeping  up  the  fire.  Everything  depended  on  how 
long  he  slept,  and  how  he  woke. 

The  first  words  he  spoke  when  he  awoke  sent  a  shudder 
of  apprehension  through  their  hearts. 

He  complained  of  cold,  and  asked  them  to  pile  up  more 
fire.  Alas!  the  chill ^ was  creeping  over  him  which  no 
effort  of  man  could  remove. 

Dr.  Jonas  asked  him  if  he  felt  very  weak. 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  how  I  suffer  !  My  dear  Jonas,  I 
think  I  shall  die  here,  at  Eisl.eben,  where  I  was  \  oni  and 
baptized." 


FRITZ'S  STORY.  j^j 

His  other  friends  were  awakened,  and  bi-ought  in  to  his 
bed  side. 

Jonas  spoke  of  the  sweat  on  his  brow  as  a  hopeful  sign, 
but  Dr.  Luther  answered, — 

"  It  is  the  cold  sweat  of  death.  I  must  yield  up  rav 
spirit,  for  my  sickness  increaseth." 

Then  he  prayed  fervently,  saying, — 

"  Heavenly  Father  !  everlasting  and  merciful  God !  thou 
bast  revealed  to  me  thy  dear  Son,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
Ilim  have  I  taught ;  Ilim  have  I  experienced  ;  Him  have 
I  confessed  ;  Him  I  love  and  adore  as  my  beloved  Saviour, 
Sacritice,  and  Redeemer — Him  whom  the  godless  perse- 
cute, dishonour,  and  reproach.  O  heavenly  Father,  thougL 
I  must  resign  my  body,  and  be  borne  away  from  this  life, 
I  know  that  I  shall  be  witli  him  for  ever.  Take  my  poor 
soul  up  to  thee." 

Afterwards  he  took  a  little  medicine,  and,  assuring  his 
friends  that  he  Avas  dying,  said  three  times, — 

"  Father,  into  thy  hands  do  I  commend  my  spirit.  Thou 
bast  redeemed  me,  thou  faithful  God.  Truly  God  halh  so 
li.-ved  the  world .'" 

Then  he  lay  quite  quiet  and  motionless.  Those  around 
sought  to  rouse  him,  and  began  to  rub  his  chest  and  limbs, 
and  spoke  to  him,  but  he  made  no  reply.  Then  Jonas 
and  Coelius,  for  the  solace  of  the  many  who  had  received 
the  truth  from  his  lips,  spoke  aloud,  and  sa'd, — 

"  Venerable  father,  do  you  die  trusting  in  Christ,  ana 
in  the  doctrine  you  have  constantly  preached  ?" 
He  answered  by  an  audible  and  joyful  "  Yes  !" 
That  was  his  last  word  on  earth.  Then,  turning  on  his 
right  side,  he  seemed  to  fall  peacefully  asleep  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  Once  more  hope  awoke  in  the  hearts  of  his 
children  and  his  friends  ;  but  the  physician  told  them  it 
was  no  favourable  symptom. 

A  light  was  brought  near  his  face ;  a  death-liko  palcnest 


546  TEE  8CH6NBER(:t-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

was  creeping  over  it,  and  his  Lands  and  feet  were  becotn> 
ing  cold. 

Gently  once  more  he  sighed  ;  and,  with  hands  folded  on 
his  breast,  yielded  up  his  spirit  to  God  without  a  struggle. 

This  was  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  IStfe  of 
February. 

And  now,  in  the  house  opposite  the  church  where  lie 
was  baptized,  and  signed  Avith  the  cross  for  the  Christian 
warfare,  Mai*tin  Luther  lies — his  warfare  accomplished, 
his  weapons  laid  aside,  his  victory  won — at  rest  beneath 
the  standard  he  has  borne  so  nobly.  In  the  place  As'here 
his  eyes  opened  on  this  earthly  life  his  spirit  has  awakened 
to  the  heavenly  life.  Often  he  used  to  speak  of  death  as 
the  Christian's  true  birth,  and  this  life  as  but  a  growing 
into  the  chrysalis-shell  in  which  the  spirit  lives  till  its  being 
is  developed,  and  it  bursts  the  shell,  casts  off  the  web, 
struggles  into  life,  spreads  its  wings  and  soars  up  to  God. 

To  Eva  and  me  it  seems  a  strange,  mysterious  seal  set 
on  his  faith,  that  his  birth-place  and  his  place  of  death — 
the  scene  of  his  nativity  to  earth  and  heaven — should  be 
the  same. 

We  can  only  say,  amidst  irrepressible  tears,  those  words 
often  on  his  lips,  "  O  death  !  bitter  to  those  whom  thou 
leavest  in  life  !"  and  "  Fear  not,  God  liveth  siilV^ 

ELSE'S     STO  RY. 

March,  1546. 

T  is  all  over.  The  beloved,  revered  form  is  with  in 
again,  but  Luther  our  father,  our  pastor,  our  friend, 
will  never  be  amongst  us  more.  His  ceaseless  toil  and 
care  for  us  all  have  worn  him  out, — the  care  which  wastes 
life  more  than  borrow, — care  such  as  no  man  knew  since 
the  apostle  Paul,  which  only  faith  such  as  St.  Paul's  en- 
abled him  to  sustain  so  long. 

This  morning  his  widow,  liis  orphan  sons  and  daughter, 
and  many  of  the  student?  and  eitizenS;  went  out  to  the 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


547 


fiaslern  Gate  of  the  city  to  meet  tlie  funeral  procession. 
Slowly  ii;  passed  through  the  streets,  so  cro^vded,  yet  so 
silent,  to  the  city  church  where  he  used  to  preach. 

Fritz  came  with  the  procession  from  Eisleben,  and  Evju 
with  Heuiz  and  Agnes,  are  also  with  us,  for  it  seemed 
necessity  to  our  mother  once  more  to  feel  and  see  her  bo 
loved  aruund  her,  now  that  death  has  shown  us  the  inipo 
tence  of  a  nation's  love  to  retain  the  life  dearest  and  most 
needed  of  all. 

Fritz  has  been  telling  us  of  that  mournful  funeral  jour- 
ney from  Eisleben. 

The  Counts  of  Mansfeld,  with  more  than  fifty  horsemen, 
and  many  princes,  counts,  and  barons,  accompanied  the 
coffin.  In  every  village  through  which  they  passed  the 
church-bells  tolled  as  if  for  the  prince  of  the  land  ;  at 
every  city  gate  magistrates,  clergy,  young  and  old,  ma- 
trons, maidens,  and  little  children,  thronged  to  meet  the 
procession,  clothed  in  mourning,  and  chanting  funeral 
hymns — German  e\angelical  hymns  of  hope  and  trust, 
such  as  he  had  taught  them  to  sing.  In  the  last  church 
in  which  it  lay  before  reaching  its  final  resting  place  at 
Wittenberg,  tlie  people  gathered  around  it,  and  8ang  one 
of  his  own  hymns,  "  I  journey  hence  in  peace,"  with  voii  eg 
broken  by  sobs  and  floods  of  tears. 

Thus  day  and  night  the  silent  body  was  borne  slowly 
through  the  Thuringian  land.  The  peasants  once  more 
-emembered  his  faithful  affection  for  them,  and  every- 
where, from  village  and  hamlet,  and  every  little  group  of 
cottages,  weeping  men  and  women  pressed  forAvard  to  do 
honour  to  the  poor  remains  of  liim  they  had  so  often  mis- 
understood in  life. 

After  Pastor  Bugenhagen's  funeral  sermon  from  Lu- 
ther's pulpit,  Melanctlion  spoke  a  few  words  beside  tho 
cofTin  in  tlie  city  church.  They  loved  each  other  well. 
When  Melancthon  heard  of  his  dcatli  he  was  most  dooply 
affected,  and  said  in  the  lecturo-rooro, — 


548  THE  Q  OEONBER 0-  CO TTA  FAMIL  Y. 

"  The  doctrine  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins  and  of  faith  in 
the  Son  of  God,  has  not  been  discovered  by  any  human 
imderstanding,  but  has  been  revealed  unto  us  by  God 
throurjh  this  man  whom  He  has  raised  up." 

In  the  city  church,  beside  the  coffin,  before  the  body 
was  lowered  into  its  last  resting  place  near  the  pulpit 
where  he  preached,  Dr.  Melancthon  pronounced  these 
words  in  Latin,  which  Caspar  Creutziger  immediately 
translated  into  German, — 

"  Every  one  who  truly  knew  him,  must  bear  witness 
that  he  was  a  benevolent,  charitable  man,  gracious  in  all 
his  discourse,  kindly  and  most  worthy  of  love,  and  neither 
rash,  passionate,  self-willed,  or  ready  to  take  offence.  And, 
nevertheless,  there  w^ere  also  in  him  an  earnestness  and 
courage  in  his  words  and  bearing  such  as  become  a  man 
like  him.  His  heart  was  true  and  faithful,  and  without 
falsehood.  The  severity  which  he  used  against  the  foe&t 
of  the  doctrine  in  his  writings  did  not  proceed  from  3 
quarrelsome  or  angry  disposition,  but  from  great  earnest- 
ness and  zeal  for  the  truth.  He  always  showed  a  high 
courage  and  manhood,  and  it  was  no  little  roar  of  the 
enemy  which  could  appal  him.  Menaces,  dangers,  and 
terror  dismayed  him  not.  So  high  and  keen  was  his 
understanding,  that  he  alone  in  complicated,  dark,  and 
difficult  afiairs  soon  perceived  what  was  to  be  counselled 
and  to  be  done.  Neither,  as  some  think,  was  he  regard- 
less of  authority,  but  diligently  regarded  the  mind  and 
will  of  those  with  whom  he  had  to  do.  His  doctrine  did 
not  consist  in  rebellious  opinions  made  known  with  vio 
lence ;  it  is  rather  an  interpretation  of  the  divine  will  and 
of  the  true  worship  of  God,  an  explanation  of  the  Word 
of  God,  namely,  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  Now  he  ia 
united  with  the  prophets  of  whom  he  loved  to  talk.  Now 
they  greet  him  as  their  fellow-labourer,  and  with  him 
praise  the  Lord  who  gathers  and  preserves  his  Churtih. 
But  we  must  retain  a  perpetual,  undying  reoollection  of 


ELSE'S  STOUT,  549 

this  our  beloved  fatlier,  and  never  let  iiis  memory  fade 
from  ouv  hearts. 

His  effigy  "srill  be  placed  in  the  city  church,  but  his  liv 
ing  portrait  is  enshrined  in  countless  hearts.  His  monu- 
ments are  the  schools  throughout  the  land,  every  hallowed 
pastor's  home,  and  above  all,  "  the  German  Bible  for  the 
German  people !" 

"Wittenberg,  April,  1547. 

WE  stand  now  in  the  foremost  rank  of  the  genera 
tions  of  our  time.  Our  father's  house  on  earth 
has  passed  away  for  ever.  Gently,  not  long  after  Dr. 
Luther's  death,  our  gentle  mother  passed  away,  and  our 
father  entered  on  the  fulfilment  of  those  never-failing  hopea 
to  which,  since  his  blindness,  his  buoyant  heart  has  learned 
more  and  more  to  cling. 

Scarcely  separated  a  year  from  each  other,  both  in  ex- 
treme old  age,  surrounded  by  all  dearest  to  them  on  earth, 
they  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 

And  now  Fritz,  who  has  an  appointment  at  the  univer 
sity,  lives  in  the  paternal  house  with  his  Eva  and  011? 
Thekla,  and  the  children. 

Of  all  our  family  I  sometimes  think  Thekla's  life  is  the 
most  blessed.  In  our  evangelical  church,  also,  I  perceive, 
God  by  his  providence  makes  nuns ;  good  women,  whos« 
wealth  of  love  is  poured  out  in  the  Church,  Avhose  inner 
ao  well  as  whose  outer  circle  is  the  family  of  God.  How 
many  whom  she  has  trained  in  the  school  and  nursed  in 
the  seasons  of  pestilence  or  adversity,  live  on  earth  to  caU 
her  bles&od,  or  live  in  heaven  to  receive  her  into  the  ever- 
lasting  habitations ! 

The  little  garden  behind  the  Augustei,  has  becume  a 
sacred  place.  Luther's  widow  and  children  still  live  there. 
Those  who  knew  liim,  and  therefore  loved  him  best,  iin<l  a 
sad  pleasure  in  Hngering  under  the  shadow  of  the  treee 
which  used  to  shelter  him,  bes.Je  the  fjuuuin  and  lh« 


,50 


THE  SCIIONBEUO'COTTA  FAMILY. 


little  fish-pond  which  he  made,  and  the  flowers  ho  planted 
and  recalling  his  words  and  his  familiar  ways ;  how  h« 
nsed  to  thank  God  for  the  fish  from  the  pond,  and  th« 
\  cgetables  sent  to  his  table  from  the  garden ;  how  he  used 
to  wonder  at  the  providence  of  God,  who  fed  the  sparrows 
and  all  the  little  birds,  "  Avhich  must  cost  Him  more  in  a 
year  than  the  revenue  of  the  king  of  France  ;"  how  he  re- 
joiced in  the  "  dew,  that  wonderful  work  of  God,"  and 
tlie  rose,  which  no  artist  could  imitate,  and  the  voice  of 
the  birds.  How  living  the  narratives  of  the  Bible  became 
when  he  spoke  of  them ! — of  the  great  apostle  Paul  whom 
he  so  honoured,  but  pictured  as  "  an  insignificant-looking, 
meagre  man,  like  Philip  Melancthon  ; "  or  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  "  who  must  have  been  a  high  and  noble  creature,  a 
air  and  gracious  maiden,  with  a  kind,  sweet  voice  ;  "  or  of 
he  lowly  home  at  Nazareth,  "  where  the  Saviour  of  the 
ivorld  was  brought  up  as  a  little  obedient  child." 

And  not  one  of  us,  with  all  his  vehemence,  could  evei 
remember  a  jealous  or  suspicious  word,  or  a  day  of 
estrangement,  so  generous  and  trustful  was  his  nature. 

Often,  also,  came  back  to  us  the  tones  of  that  rich,  true 

roice,  and  of  the  lute  or  lyre,  which  used  so  frequently  to 

Bound  from  the  dwelling-room  with   the   large  window, 

at  his  friendly  entertainments,  or   in   his   more  solitary 

ours 

Then,  in  twilight  hours  of  quiet,  intimate  converse,  Mis- 
tress Luther  can  recall  to  us  the  habits  of  his  more  inner 
home  life — how  in  his  sicknesses  he  used  to  comfort  her, 
lud  when  she  was  weeping,  would  say,  with  irrepressible 
tears,  "Dear  Kiithe,  our  children  trust  us,  though  they 
cannot  understand ;  so  must  we  trust  God.  It  is  Avell  if 
we  do;  all  comes  from  him."  And  his  jjrayers  morning 
and  evening,  and  frequently  ai  meals  and  at  otlier  times 
in  the  day — his  devout  repeating  of  the  Smaller  Catechism, 
"to  God" — his  frequent  fervent  utterance  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  oi  of  psalms  from  the  Psalter,  which  he  alwav« 


ELSE'S  STORY. 


5Jr 


carried  with  hua  as  a  pocket  prayer  book.  Or,  at  other 
times,  rihe  may  speak  reverently  of  his  hours  of  conflict, 
when  his  prayers  became  a  tempest — a  torrent  of  vehement 
supplication — a  wrestling  with  God,  as  a  son  in  agony  at 
the  feet  of  a  fjither.  Or,  again,  of  his  sudden  wakhigs  in 
the  night,  to  encounter  the  unseen  devil  with  fervent 
prayer,  or  scornful  defiance,  or  words  of  truth  and  fiiith. 

I\Iore  than  one  among  us  knew  Avhat  reason  he  had  to 
believe  in  the  efficacy  of  prayei*.  Melancthon,  especially, 
can  never  forget  the  day  Avhen  he  lay  at  the  point  of  death, 
half  unconscious,  with  eyes  growing  dim,  and  Luther 
came  and  exclaimed  with  dismay — 

"  God  save  us !  how  successfully  has  the  devil  misused 
this  mortal  frame !  " 

And  then  turning  from  the  company  towards  the  win- 
dow, to  pray,  looking  \\\)  to  the  heavens,  he  came,  as  he 
himself  said  afterwards,  "  as  a  mendicant  and  a  suppliant 
to  God,  and  pressed  him  with  all  the  promises  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures  he  could  recall ;  so  that  God  must  hear  me,  if 
ever  again  I  should  trust  his  promi^^es." 

After  that  prayer,  he  took  Melancthon  by  the  hand,  and 
said,  "  Be  of  good  cheer,  Philip,  you  will  not  die."  And 
from  that  moment  Melancthon  began  to  revive  and  recover 
consciousness,  and  was  restored  to  health. 

Especially,  however,  we  treasure  all  he  said  of  death 
and  the  resurrection,  of  heaven  and  the  future  woild  of 
righteousness  and  joy,  of  which  he  so  delighted  to  speak, 
A  few  of  these  I  may  record  for  my  children. 

"  In  the  papacy,  they  made  pilgrimages  to  the  shrinetj 
of  the  saints — to  Rome,  Jerusalrm,  St.  Jago — to  atone  for 
sins.  But  now,  we  in  faith  can  make  true  pilgrimages, 
which  really  ])lea8e  God.  When  we  diligently  road  the 
prophets,  psalms,  and  evangelists,  we  journey  towards 
God,  not  through  cities  of  the  saints,  but  in  our  ihonghta 
And  hearts,  and  visit  the  true  Promised  Land  and  Paradi8« 
of  everlasting  life. 


{5a  THE  8€E6NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 

'"  Thfc  devil  has  sworn  our  death,  but  he  will  crack  a 
deaf  nut.     The  kernel  wiU  be  gone." 

He  had  so  often  been  dangerously  ill,  that  the  thought 
of  d  3ath  was  very  familiar  to  him.  In  one  of  his  sick- 
nesses he  said,  "  1  know  I  shall  not  live  long.  My  brain 
is  like  a  knife  worn  to  the  '  lilt ;  it  can  cut  no  longer." 
^  "  At  Coburg  I  used  to  go  about  and  seek  for  a  quiet 
place  where  I  might  be  buried,  and  in  the  chapel  under  the 
cross  I  thought  I  could  lie  well.  But  now  I  am  worse  than 
then.  God  grant  me  a  happy  end !  I  have  no  desire  tc 
live  longer." 

When  asked  if  people  could  be  saved  under  the  papacy 
who  had  never  heard  his  doctrine  of  the  Gospel,  he  said, 
"  Many  a  monk  have  I  seen,  before  whom,  on  his  death- 
bed, they  held  tlie  crucifix,  as  was  then  the  custom. 
Through  faith  in  His  merits  and  passion,  they  may,  indeed, 
liave  been  saved." 

"What  is  our  sleep,"  he  said,  "but  a  kind  of  death? 
And  what  is  death  itself  but  a  night-sleep  ?  In  sleep  all 
weariness  is  laid  aside,  and  we  become  cheerful  again,  and 
rise  in  the  morning  fresh  and  well.  So  shall  we  awake 
from  our  graves  in  the  iast  day,  as  though  we  had  only 
slept  a  night,  and  bathe  ou'r  eyes  and  rise  fresh  and  well." 

"  O  gracious  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  come  quicldy,  come 
at  last !   I  wait  ever  for  that  day — that  morning  of  spring !" 

And  he  waits  for  it  still.     Not  now,  indeed,  on  earth, 
in  what  kind  of  place  we  know  not,"  as  he  said ;  "  but 
most  surely  free  from  all  grief  and  pain,  resting  in  peaoe 
And  in  the  love  and  grace  of  God." 

We  also  wait  for  that  Day  of  Redemption,  still  in  the 
weak  flesh  and  amidst  the  storm  and  the  conflict ;  but 
strong  and  peaceful  in  the  truth  Martin  Luther  taught  uS; 
and  in  the  God  he  trusted  to  th«  last 

THE    END. 

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